Daughter of Isis, Son of Mars
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: Before Antony and Cleopatra, another Queen of Egypt lived, loved and died. Rebel, genius, spymaster, murderess. The story of Arsinoe IV - or how Baldwin de Clermont met his match. There will be strong language, violence, and sex.
1. Chapter One

**Daughter of Isis; Son of Mars**

Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to the esteemed and excellent Deb Harkness. I own nothing, and have taken _much_ poetic license with history.

 **Timeline**

 **47 BC – Caesar arrives in Alexandria. Egyptian forces under Arsinoë IV defeat the Roman fleet at the Pharos Lighthouse. Arsinoë is traded by her own men for her brother, King Ptolemy XIII.**

 **46 BC – Arsinoë is taken to Rome and paraded in triumph. Caesar is pressurised by public opinion to spare her life. She is exiled to the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus.**

 **44 BC – Caesar is assassinated. Octavian Caesar and Mark Antony, after a brief alliance, conflict with one another for the first time. They later reconcile. Antony rules the East.**

 **41 BC – Cleopatra and Antony become lovers. Cleopatra requests Arsinoë's execution, which is carried out by Antony's forces. Her murder, committed on the steps of the Temple of Artemis, shocks and appalls Rome.**

 **Arsinoë's year of birth is debated by historians. Earliest estimates put her year of birth as 68 BC, making her 27 at the time of her death. I have used this.**

 **Ok, boring history stuff over with.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It had been obvious from the moment she entered the palace – carpet and all – that Cleopatra was a witch. There had been one or two others in Alexandria but this one was undoubtedly the most dangerous. Not because she was hugely powerful in magic, but because she was obviously conniving, ambitious, volatile - and royal.

Particularly volatile this morning, it seemed. Lucius was with Caesar and his staff, the mortals breakfasting on bread and honey, and Lucius with bread broken into many pieces. The atmosphere had been relaxed for the first time since they arrived, jovial even. Until Cleopatra had stormed in with her retinue, furious.

"Arsinoë is gone!"

Caesar rose to his feet. "Queen Cleopatra. Good morning."

"This is not a good morning, Caesar! Did you not hear me? Arsinoë and Gandymedes are gone! They have escaped!"

"I heard you."

"Then find her! She is your enemy as well as mine, need I remind you!"

Caesar adopted the same amused expression he had used for the past few weeks around Cleopatra. So far it had done nothing but annoy her, and sure enough, Lucius smelled singed hair and rain as her magic stirred now. He picked up his water cup and drank, the movement simple but enough to catch her attention. As he had done with her, she had identified him as a threat as soon as the Romans arrived in Alexandria. She therefore kept half an eye on him at all times and, thus far, had not made any directly aggressive overtures. Now their gazes met for half a second, the glance enough of a reminder. The smell of magic withdrew.

Caesar – who, for an astute man, was remarkably good at ignoring any and all creatures in his midst – carried on smirking. "I realise your sister and her eunuch may be, in theory, my enemies, Queen Cleopatra, but you must see that their escape hardly vastly increases the magnitude of the threat. Achillas controls a sizeable force already, and two people cannot add to it."

"Arsinoë could add to it – she will draw the support of those who resent Rome's presence in Egypt."

Lucius agreed. "Her royal status does make her a figurehead in a way Achillas cannot match," he pointed out to Caesar. "Even if he has declared himself Pharaoh."

"I want her imprisoned!" Cleopatra reiterated. Lucius wondered if foot-stamping would come next. "Imprisoned or dead!"

"I am not in the habit of murdering girls," Caesar snapped, the amusement disappearing. "She will be found and returned to captivity, but not harmed."

Cleopatra's mouth compressed into a thin line. "Fine."

Lucius was unhappy, but unsurprised when Caesar turned to him. Throughout successive campaigns in Gaul, Britannia and the recent war with Pompey's legions, Caesar had learned well that if a hostage needed to be taken, or rescued, Lucius was the _tribunus_ most likely to complete his task and be alive for the telling of it. Lucius' differences merely marked him out as a useful tool to Caesar. It was conceivable that he did not particularly care _why_ Lucius was so able, only that he was.

" _Tribunus_ ," Caesar said. "I'm charging you with retrieving Princess Arsinoë. You heard me. Alive and unharmed."

He might be under Caesar's command, but the general did listen to rational opposition, so Lucius had no issue raising an objection now. "Surely, Caesar, it would be better to strike Achillas' forces first. With Arsinoë's arrival, the loyalty of his men will be split. They'll be confused, easy to divide. Arsinoë might attract more supporters, but if the men fighting under her banner are all dead, she cannot do anything about it. No matter Ganymedes' reputation."

Arsinoë's mentor, the eunuch Ganymedes, was by all accounts clever and quick, and developed sound strategy. He had obviously been overruled in the case of Pompey. No decent tactician could have misread the situation so badly as to believe Caesar could want Pompey's head in a basket.

Caesar considered Lucius' words, but shook his head. "No, Queen Cleopatra is right, and in any case, the prevailing wind is keeping us in the bay at the moment. Go and retrieve Arsinoë. If you can't, learn as much as you can about the force opposing us, and return."

"Caesar." Lucius stood and saluted.

It was not difficult to take a small unit of legionnaires to the Egyptian front lines and allow them to be captured. As in previous instances of using this tactic, Lucius had selected the weakest among Caesar's men, or the sickest. The ones, who, in all likelihood, would not be leaving Egypt alive anyway. Only one of the dozen he took on the 'scouting mission' seemed to recognise what it actually was: Quintus. A grizzled veteran nearing his twenty-eighth year of service and who had no real family to speak of. The army was his life, and he seemed happy enough to have it be his death.

Within an hour of them setting out, Lucius had been captured after a brief skirmish with the Egyptians, and three of his men were dead. Quintus wasn't, though he was wounded and would likely die if a rescue party didn't come along. As always for Lucius, the most difficult part had been cutting off the slaughter in mid-flow. Feigning injury and surrendering. He was currently being dragged to the Egyptian camp, bound and 'unconscious'.

"Quickly, quickly!" someone called.

"What?"

"Hurry!"

Whoever it was sounded young. "Queen Arsinoë has ordered the execution of the pretender Achillas!"

Lucius decided to stir at this, opening his eyes and blinking in apparent confusion. His draggers made noises of relief and hauled him to his feet. "Finally! Get up, Roman! Move! Come and see what we do to those who oppose us!"

What they did, it transpired, was uncompromising. General Achillas (responsible for Pompey's death, the drawing of Caesar's ire and usurpation of the throne), was on his knees before a dais, where stood Ganymedes and Arsinoë. Despite his orders, there were far too many Egyptians for him to grab the young princess now, so Lucius settled in to watch the spectacle.

Arsinoë wore a white gown, gold bangles and arm bracelets shining on her brown skin. There was gold thread woven through her black hair too. Heavy kohl outlined her eyes, making them look like pits of contempt, deep and endlessly black. She wore an impassive expression. She was also, as he could smell, entirely human. Ganymedes cut the more striking figure, so explosive with colour were his garments, and his shaven head gleamed in the midday sun. He was the one doing the talking.

"Achillas. You are a traitor to the Upper and Lower kingdoms. You are a thief – and as punishment for the usurpation of the throne of Egypt, you will suffer the punishment of all thieves."

He gestured to the man with a double-headed axe, who stepped forward while another one hauled Achillas' bound hands forwards, onto a block. Without preamble, the axe came down, and hands were separated from body. The smell of blood leaped into the air, filling Lucius' nose. It was stronger than the other scents of the desert, drowning out the sweat, incense and the subtle perfume that Arsinoë had dabbed on her pulse points. It overwhelmed the hot dust smell of the sand and the salt tang of the sea. Achillas screamed in pain, a brief roar that seemed unwillingly ripped from him before he slammed his mouth shut. Even Lucius had to admire his resolve: he had to know he was not likely to live past the next five minutes, yet he would go to the grave with at least some of his dignity remaining.

Ganymedes was speaking again, and holding the twitching digits up, much to the approval of the watching Egyptians. "But usurpation of the throne is not merely theft. It is treason. You are an enemy of Egypt, and you shall suffer as all enemies of Egypt will suffer!"

More cheers. The soldiers who held Lucius' arms jeered at him. He tested the bindings on his wrists. Not impossible, by any means.

Ganymedes looked at Arsinoë, who nodded, and in short order, Achillas' head had been parted from his shoulders. The blood was soaked quickly into the sand, pooling only in the shelves of rock. The head was held up, shown to the crowd, and then the body was dragged away. To be dumped into the sea, Lucius imagined, unworthy of the usual Egyptian burial customs that were now all the rage.

"That's what you've got coming, Roman," one of his guards hissed.

Briefly, Lucius considered turning around and beheading him (although it wouldn't be the clean cut Achillas had been granted), but he decided against it.

The other one laughed too. "And that's _if_ Queen Arsinoë decides to be quick about it."

Ten minutes later, he was brought before Arsinoë, and then kicked in the back of the knees. He really quite enjoyed the curses which split the air when human foot came into contact with vampiric leg. Arsinoë and Ganymedes turned to stare at the scene, abandoning their conversation.

"Is one Roman causing you a grave problem?" Arsinoë asked acidly.

"No-No, my Queen."

This time, it was the butt of a spear which delivered the blow. Still not quite enough to make him buckle, but it was that or splinter the weapon, which would hardly allow him to pass as an ordinary man. Albeit a very large, menacing one. When he was on his knees, Arsinoë and Ganymedes went back to their discussion. They were bent over a large map of Alexandria.

"They are still contained in this area of the city," Ganymedes said. "Therefore they might be besieged."

A simple, obvious ploy that Lucius couldn't help but smirk at. It would never work.

Arsinoë shook her head. "We don't have time. Once reinforcements arrive from Rome then we'll be the ones besieged. Alexandria is well supplied. In order to starve them out we would need months."

Ganymedes grimaced but suggested, "With the gods' blessing it might be-"

"The gods evidently are occupied with other matters," Arsinoë said curtly, in a manner so like Philipus that Lucius grinned briefly despite himself. She continued, "It is best if we apply our minds to the problem, rather than our prayers." A brief pause. "If they're in _this_ section of the city …"

"Yes?"

"Flood the canals with seawater. Caesar might have enough food for his men but without drinking water they will be sundered in a matter of days."

That was unexpected. Arsinoë was the one leading the campaign? All intelligence thus far had pointed towards Ganymedes as the tactician. Presumably that was deliberate on the queen's part, which did not bode well for his chances of leaving here without bloodshed. Her idea of salinating the water was clever. And it would almost certainly work. Caesar's legions were used to the cool, wet climate of Gaul. They were already suffering in the Egyptian heat – Lucius could attest to their grumbling. Add to that a lack of water …

Ganymedes was nodding. "It will be done, my Queen. What do you wish to do with the Roman?"

She glanced at Lucius. "He might be useful. Take him away. If he looks like he's listening too hard, cut off his ears."

* * *

With Ganymedes gone to give the orders, Arsinoë was alone for the first time since she could remember. She sank into a chair with a weary sigh and briefly closed her eyes. At this point in the day she would usually be calling for her ladies to play music and bring wine. Perhaps rub her feet. But they had been left in Alexandria. She did not fear Cleopatra's retribution coming down on them; they were all too clever to attract attention from Caesar, and her sister too obsessed with Arsinoë to give a second thought to anyone else. Admittedly, it did mean that she herself was outside the city walls, the only woman for some distance, without any of her usual comforts.

Yet she was Queen. With Achillas rightfully executed, and Ptolemy imprisoned in Alexandria, she was, finally, Queen. _She_ controlled Egypt's army, _she_ would defeat the Romans, _she_ would determine the destiny of her people.

There was the swish of fabric as Ganymedes came back in. "The orders are given. A channel will be dug tonight under the cover of darkness. By morning, the Romans will have nothing to drink."

"Good."

"You should take some rest, child," he said softly.

Arsinoë smiled. Ganymedes was the only real parent she had known, her tutor and mentor since the days she could barely walk. Beyond perhaps three of her ladies, he was the only person she trusted absolutely. He was also in the unique position of being relied upon. But that did mean he felt entitled to nag her. "I will," she promised.

"Sooner, rather than later."

"I _will_. Now sit down and eat something. We did well today."

"That we did, my Queen."

She grinned at him.

"How does it feel?"

"It will feel better when the Romans are no longer here," she said.

"With your plan, it should not be long until they are gone," he replied.

They ate, and then Arsinoë did rest through the night. Away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the palace, the constant threat of spies and assassins and her sister's powers, her sleep was deep and peaceful. The next morning brought word that the plan to poison Caesar's water supply had been successful.

"It is a good start," she said.

"A good start?" Ganymedes laughed. "Arsinoë, without water he will surrender, he must."

She looked at him sceptically. "Caesar did not conquer Gaul by giving in at the first obstacle presented to him. Yes, he has no water in the city. So he will try to find more. Bore holes will be drilled."

"That will not be enough to keep all his men going."

"We'll see. He might have help," she added, with enough emphasis that he knew what she meant.

Cleopatra had never shown much aptitude for the control of water, true enough, but Arsinoë had learned a long time ago never to assume anything was true when her sister was involved. Even if Cleopatra could not pinpoint a good source of water, or feared to before Caesar, she might have the allegiance of others like her who could.

"You think Cleopatra is likely to …"

"I think Cleopatra is likely to do anything which benefits Cleopatra. We should wait another two days. I want hourly reports from our agents in the city on how much water the Romans have and where it is coming from. If, after that time has passed, Caesar still has insufficient water, we will act."

"Very well, my Queen. What do you wish to do about the prisoner who was taken yesterday?"

"Has he said anything?"

"Nothing."

"Find out what his name and rank is. He might at least yield a ransom."

* * *

 **A/N: Please review if you liked it! I will be uploading a chapter a day, as I have most of the story written already.**


	2. Chapter Two

**A note on names:**

 **Lucius: Baldwin, obviously.**  
 **Philipus: you get no prizes for guessing.**  
 **Elena: Ysabeau. Helene is one of her names, and the root of that is Greek, which latinized would be something like Elena.**  
 **Justus: Hugh.**  
 **Monsafi: De Clermont. Again, I tried to delve into the etymology and the nearest I could come up with was something like 'Holy Mountain', so it's based on that in Greek and Latin.**

 **All non-fictional characters bear their real names.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

Half an hour after giving his name and rank, Lucius found himself once more brought before Arsinoë. Again, he was put on his knees. "Keep your weapons on him," she said. Then she addressed him directly. "What is a _tribunus_ doing leading such a small scouting party, I wonder?"

He said nothing. He knew she was young – no older than twenty – but she bore a confidence and surety that made her older than that. There was arrogance perhaps, but none of the petulance which defined her sister.

"A _tribunus_ younger than any other I have seen and with a very odd name. A mix of Greek and something else."

"Much like you."

"Yet unlike me, you clearly do not possess Greek ancestry. So how is it you bear a Greek name?"

"How does anyone get their name? I bear it for my father."

"Indeed. Answer my question. Why did Caesar send you?"

"To scout," he answered mildly.

She sighed impatiently. "I dislike torture. That does not mean I do not sometimes see the necessity of it." He was spared having to answer by a messenger bearing an urgent report for Arsinoë. She scanned it quickly and smiled. "Perhaps no torture will be necessary. Now that I know how poorly Romans deal with a lack of water, we will try that tack. Take him away. Deny him food or water until he finds his tongue grown looser."

Lucius barely noticed as he was dragged away and once more bound at the wrists. He was too busy listening to Arsinoë's conversation.

"You know what Caesar will do next." That was Gaymedes.

"He will do what he has to do – without water in the city he will look for other sources along the coast. Where are they?"

"The closest spring is the one we have in camp here. After that, there is another two miles west, and another further east. Here," Ganymedes said, the sound of a finger stabbing papyrus as he pointed at a map.

"Poison the one in the west."

"And the eastern one?"

"They will have to maintain a constant chain of ships to and fro in order to supply Alexandria. There is no need for us to make that easy for them."

"Well, easy or not, if Caesar is to survive, he must reclaim the harbour."

There was the sound of unravelling papyrus, and Arsinoë's jewellery clinked as she moved her arm over it. "While we control Pharos, and the lighthouse, he is in a weakened position. That is where he must focus his attack."

"Obviously. It would be possible to drive his fleet back."

"Better to capture his ships and bolster our own fleet. We've fewer than he does, but with the geography of the bay that does not have to be a disadvantage."

"You assume Caesar's men will choose to surrender to us rather than fight to the death."

"Caesar did not win Gaul and Britannia with insensible men. They'll surrender."

Lucius considered, and found she was probably correct on that point. There were a few fanatics who would happily die for the cause, but not the majority. The idea of capturing Caesar's ships, however, was misjudged. Caesar would rather scupper his own vessels than see them in his enemy's hands. Arsinoë was going to be disappointed.

"The alternative …" Ganymedes said.

"Is?"

"Could we capture Caesar himself? If there is to be a battle he would not wish to be merely a witness."

There was a silence as Arsinoë considered, but whatever her decision, it was lost in a sudden clatter of metal and talk as dinner was served to the men outside. Lucius weighed his options. His orders had been to capture Arsinoë alive and return her to Alexandria. Clearly, she had already done substantive damage to Caesar, and now was laying a trap for him when he tried to leave the harbour. Caesar needed a warning more than he needed a captive princess. It was swift and easy business to dispatch his two guards. When they arrived at the post to which he would be chained, he allowed the metal links to be looped around his wrists, but not tightened. Instead he wrapped the chain around one of the guards neck, rendering him unable to breathe or cry out. The other had a chance to draw his weapon; Lucius simply dodged the first blow and seized the man's wrist, breaking his arm effortlessly before ripping his throat out. Since it had been more than a week since his last meal, he then fed from the first guard until he was drained, then stripped him. Dressed in the stolen uniform, he passed through the Egyptian camp almost unchallenged, until he tried to take a horse.

"Hey! You're not–" It was as far as the guard got before he was summarily thrown into a stable, and his head met a wall.

After that it was easy. Take a horse, unchallenged now, ride back to Alexandria. It was good thing he was not expecting a warm welcome. From Cleopatra he had hardly expected one, but nor did he receive it from Caesar.

"I have never known you to fail in executing my orders, _Tribunus_ , yet here you are, and no sign of Princess Arsinoë."

"Queen Arsinoë now," he said, partly to further irritate Cleopatra. He'd no fondness for witches, but she was a loathsome example of the breed even so. "And I return now because there have been developments that you should be made aware of."

"Go on."

"She knows you need water. She knows you are not finding enough. She knows you will attempt to break out of the harbour, and she knows that you will try for the lighthouse first."

"She knows much," Caesar said. He turned to Cleopatra. "I believed you had identified her spies?"

"Not all, evidently," Lucius said.

The smell of magic, like burning hair, spiked suddenly. Lucius was unworried. If Cleopatra had failed to identify Arsinoe's spies, then it was likely telepathy was not one of the powers she possessed. Likewise, if Caesar had not managed to dig wells enough to access necessary water, then Cleopatra was probably not a water witch.

Caesar motioned before Cleopatra could do anything. "Go on."

"Her plan is to capture your fleet – or yourself. She is not beyond such daring."

Caesar nodded slowly. "You did the right thing to return. Excuse us, Queen Cleopatra."

Cleopatra held in her scream of rage until after Caesar had passed beyond earshot. Lucius could still hear her though, and it was difficult to completely suppress his smile. "So, Arsinoë fancies herself a war hero, does she?" Caesar asked.

"She fancies herself the saviour of Egypt. As far as I know she has no plans to actually fight."

"That is a pity, it would have served as entertainment the men sorely need."

"How bad is it?"

"Not ideal," Caesar replied tightly. Lucius had learned during the British campaign that meant the situation was as near to catastrophic as it could get without an ambush by a tribe of angry Picts. He missed Picts.

"There are boreholes, but they are in no way adequate to supply the whole city," Caesar continued. "Arsinoë is not wrong when she says we must break out from the harbour soon."

"When do you intend to do it?"

"Do you think the men could be mobilised in two days?"

"Caesar, I've been a prisoner of the Egyptians for days. I have no idea the state the men are in."

"Then go and find out."

He found that, with some discipline and a little extra water – taken from the civilians of Alexandria – the men would be ready to be loaded onto the ships and taken to the lighthouse island of Pharos. Caesar had formulated a plan which involved attacking the lighthouse and using it as a base to push a lance through the rest of the Egyptian fleet. Once enough ships were positioned behind and in front of the enemy, a pincer movement would be enacted. Lucius was interested to see how that plan would fare against whatever counterattack Arsinoë had in reserve.

* * *

No. No, this was unsupportable. Arsinoë could not merely sit here, far from the action, content to receive reports and do _nothing_. Ganymedes was overseeing the battle from the coastline, and while she trusted him implicitly, this was her plan, and if anything went wrong, she needed to be there to make a command decision. Exhaling her frustration, the queen rose to her feet and exited her tent. The camp was empty of all but her personal guard and the slaves who tended the horses and the field kitchen.

"Ready my chariot. I am going to the forward position."

The guards exchanged dubious glances, but did as they were ordered. She allowed the guards to take the reins of the horses. Sometimes it was a bitter position she had created for herself, playing the helpless woman. When she had driven the Romans out, and crushed Cleopatra, she would be happy to relinquish it.

They arrived at Ganymedes' command post in time to see the two fleets heading straight for one another. Caesar had opted for as straight a line as possible, in as wide a formation as possible, right across the bay. Arsinoë's forces were, at present, at a similar point.

"My Queen!" Ganymedes said. He did not seem all that surprised to see her.

"Is all as expected?"

"So far. The catapults on the island and the fire-hurlers on top of the lighthouse are supplied and ready. And the wind is with us."

Arsinoë lifted her face; it was. The sailors on board the Egyptian ships would be tacking into the wind, while the Romans had the advantage of speed. That was fine. It was the only advantage they would enjoy today.

"The chain?"

"They should be deploying any moment now."

They watched, and sure enough, the Egyptian ships suddenly folded their sails. All but two of them suddenly slowed dramatically. The two remaining steered away from one another, revealing a chain strung between them. Caesar's ships tried to stop too late. Five of them rammed straight into the taut chain, gutted instantly. The rest of the Egyptian ships unfurled their sails once more, matching the formation of the Roman fleet. Suddenly the wind changed direction.

"The gods favour us today!" Ganymedes cried.

Arsinoë closed her eyes briefly. _Thanks be to Isis_.

From the lighthouse, fireballs rained down on the leading ships of the Roman fleet. Five more were sunk. The arms of the Egyptian fleet began to close. They would be able to trap the ships and either capture or sink them. They had already sunk Caesar's flagship, and she could see her men fishing something purple out of the water. Hopefully that was Caesar, rather than his corpse. It was at that point that things began to go awry. The men in the lighthouse had been overzealous, and not stopped with the flagships. Suddenly there was more smoke and flame. Within minutes, the rest of the Roman fleet was on fire.

"That blaze didn't come from the lighthouse," she realised. "He– He did it! Caesar set his own ships alight!"

Sure enough, the wind was still blowing the Roman ships back towards the quay, and the fire seemed to jump between them like a living thing. The men on board them were either scrambling onto rowing boats or diving overboard and trying to swim for it.

Beside her, Ganymedes had gone ashen. "The Library!"

Arsinoë winced. Now with a life of its own and independent of canvas sails or wooden hulls, the fire had jumped to the land and was clawing at the Library's walls.

"A curse on Rome!" Ganymedes cried. "Our entire history! All the records of Alexandria –"

" _Not_ gone," Arsinoë reminded him gently. "The Library is not contained in one building, at _your_ orders. You foresaw this, no? Thanks to you, my friend, at least some of it will survive. And even Cleopatra's interests are to protect the treasure housed there. Her men will fight the flames."

"That– That is true."

"And better that the Roman ships are sunk than they escape," she consoled. "This is still a victory. We still have Caesar."

"True enough." He exhaled with a nod. "Yes, true enough. A victory nonetheless."

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 **Please review!**


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

It was difficult not to use the word 'shambles' when the fireballs began. When the chain had gutted five ships at once, that had been bad. When the flagships were targeted, it was worse. By the time the Egyptians in the lighthouse had got their eye in, and were successfully landing fireballs on the deck of Caesar's vessel, it was clearly not going to get better. In fact, "shambles" was the only accurate adjective Lucius could think of.

Caesar, unaccustomed to losing, wasn't taking it well. "Tighten the halyard! Bind the stays! Brace the mainsail–"

Lucius grabbed his arm and physically brought him to a halt. "Can you swim?"

"What are you men waiting for, return fire–"

"Caesar!"

"What?"

"Can you swim?"

"Of course I can –"

"Then take off your cloak and armour, give both to me, and swim for the city."

"They are far too close to be fooled by such a diversion!" Caesar said, gesturing at the Pharos Lighthouse. The Egyptians were watching carefully – and still raining fireballs.

"Not if they're given something else to look at," Lucius shouted over the din.

Caesar followed his gaze to where the flagship's sails were sending embers to a nearby ship. The sailors onboard were frantically attempting to stop the blaze. Caesar rushed to the bulwark. "Stop fighting the flames!" he yelled. "Let the fire take the ship, spread it to others if you can!"

"Sir?"

"Set the fleet alight!"

It did not make any sense to the Romans, but they obeyed their commander nonetheless. Once he was sure they would do as he'd said, Caesar stripped off his purple cloak and armour. He handed both to Lucius. "This had better work, _Tribunus_."

Whatever else he was, Caesar was no coward, and the idea of running away did not sit well with him. Equally, though, he knew that he was the target of the Egyptians, and that he stood a far greater chance of dying today than Lucius did. Moving quickly, he stripped himself down to his tunic but hesitated slightly. Lucius more or less flipped him into the sea. He then wrapped the distinctive purple garment around himself and also launched himself over the other side of the now-sinking ship. It was mere moments before he was fished out by the Egyptians. And then, once again, he was a prisoner. At least he might actually have an opportunity to capture Arsinoë.

The said queen was in a jubilant mood when he was once more dragged into the command tent. She had a broad smile on her face and was laughing and joking with Ganymedes. She stopped when she saw his face. "Where is Caesar?"

"It- Caesar, my Queen."

"This is _not_ Caesar."

"But … he wore purple, my Queen, he-"

She reached behind her, on the war table, and picked up a coin. Caesar's profile was on it. She flicked it at the man who had brought him in. "Does he look like Caesar?" she asked, moving slowly closer.

"N-no, my Queen."

Without warning, her arm shot out, and she backhanded him across one cheek. "No. That is because he is _not_ Caesar. I would take your useless eyes, but blindness would do little to cure your stupidity! Get out."

The man hurried away. Arsinoë turned away without a second glance at Lucius. She picked up a sheaf of papyrus and tossed it into the brazier. Presumably the plan to capture both the Roman fleet and Caesar.

"You again," Arsinoë said, looking at him. "Do you intend to successfully kidnap me this time or are you here to kill me?"

"Kidnap, naturally. And for accuracy's sake, I changed my plans and decided to warn Caesar of your plan to attack the Roman fleet."

"Not fast enough."

"It would be unwise to become complacent."

She snapped off a, "Ha!" of laughter but did not elaborate on what she'd found so funny. "Tell me, Roman, are you honest?" She sat in a chair with a goblet of water in her hand. She offered him one. The cool liquid wasn't blood, but it was unobjectionable.

"Sometimes."

"Is Caesar honourable?"

"Sometimes."

She spared him a glare.

"Why don't you tell me what you want to know, and I will think about telling you."

"I could _make_ you tell me."

He smirked. "No you couldn't."

"Very well. How wedded is Caesar to the alliance with my sister?"

He paused. Philipus had sent him here to further Caesar's influence, and their family's influence with Caesar. Having assessed the situation, Cleopatra clearly had no interest in anyone but herself holding sway over Caesar. There was nothing to be gained by further antagonism with Arsinoë.

"Quite. Her offer is heavily weighted in Rome's favour."

"I meant _her_ , personally."

"I cannot tell you. He was impressed by her daring in being smuggled into the palace."

Arsinoë made a derisory noise. "Of course he was. Would this … impression prevent him from reneging on that alliance when it becomes clear he cannot hold the city and I insist on Cleopatra being excluded from the line of succession?"

" _Just_ the line of succession?" he smirked. "You'd not rather she be excluded from her head?"

That earned him a grin, a flash of amusement that turned the dignified to the playful for a moment. "All in good time. Answer my question."

"He might. Rome came here, among other things, to ensure that trade from Egypt resumes; whoever wins this war will be the one to trade with. Your situation is complicated by Pompey, however."

She clenched her jaw. "I thought it might be."

"Tell me –"

"Do not command me, Roman," she said sharply, before relaxing and gesturing for him to continue.

"What on possessed you to murder such a high-ranking Roman when he arrived? You might have ransomed him for almost any price-"

"Don't you think I argued that?" she snapped. "Don't you think I _knew_ what would happen when Caesar arrived? Achillas pushed for it. You may have noticed Achillas is now dead."

"Caesar may not care. The deed is done."

"So he will not accede to an alliance with me?"

"I didn't say that."

He was being deliberately obstructive, and they both knew it. She snatched the dagger in her belt, which was interesting, and looked like she might hold it to his throat, until something else intervened. That was the two guards stationed at the entrance to the tent entering, with their weapons drawn.

"What is it?" Arsinoë demanded.

Neither of them said anything, and ignoring Lucius completely, they advanced on the queen. Their eyes were wide and fixed, but their heartbeats were those of men asleep. He opened his mouth to issue a warning; however, it seemed Arsinoë did not require it. The dagger that had been heading towards Lucius' throat was suddenly flashing in her hand as she sidestepped the first blow. She thrust her weapon upwards, through the man's chin and into his skull. With a gargling noise and a sudden spurt of blood, he fell dead. Arsinoë grabbed his sword as he fell, and swung it into the thigh of the other man. Lucius did the rest, on his feet suddenly and snapping the guard's neck. In the second which followed, he and Arsinoë shared an intense look of sudden understanding.

Hearing a fight, other guards rushed in, saw Lucius standing over two corpses, saw a spray of blood on their queen, and came to exactly the wrong conclusion. "Stop!" Arsinoë ordered quickly. "The Roman saved me."

Now she was lying to her men after some of them had tried to kill her. He had not saved her, merely helped. This situation became more interesting by the moment. Ganymedes was now in the room, and he took Arsinoë's face tenderly between his hands. "You're not hurt?"

"No."

"Take those two away and find out how _assassins_ made their way into the queen's guard!" Ganymedes snapped at the other guards. He turned to Lucius. "We are in your debt, Roman. _I_ am in your debt."

"There's no need for theatrics, Ganymedes," Arsinoë said. "And no need for any investigations. I am certain those men were as loyal as any others."

"How can that be-"

"You _know_ how," she interrupted. "Her reach is getting longer."

"Cleopatra?" Lucius asked.

Ganymedes shot him a narrow-eyed glare. "What do you know of Cleopatra?"

"He knows enough, don't you?" Arsinoë said measuredly.

He nodded. "It was obvious."

"I did not think she would take the destruction of the library quite so badly," Arsinoë quipped. "She has always been more concerned with making history than reading it."

Ganymedes led her to sit down, then looked at Lucius. "And you, Roman? Why save the queen?"

"The queen saved herself, as I think you know," Lucius replied, which did not answer Ganymedes' question.

"Ganymedes, he is still here to abduct me. He cannot be trusted," Arsinoë said. She addressed the guards. "Take him away. Make sure there are at least six men watching him at all times. If he so much as scratches his nose, kill him."

"Is this Egyptian gratitude?" Lucius asked sourly.

He was once more taken to his cage and locked up. As per Arsinoë's warnings, he was well-guarded, and he decided to heed it. He sat still as a statue and waited. There was the sense of something in the air. Something that might change the status quo. All through the night, and the next day, the mood of the camp was shifting. For no discernible reason that Lucius could see, the men were losing confidence in "Ganymedes'" leadership. Mutterings of discontent, fear and distrust were everywhere by the next sunset. Only very slowly did Lucius begin to hear details. Rumours. A huge fleet of Roman ships was on its way. Massive in size. Hundreds of ship. All of Rome had united behind Caesar. From being a glorious triumph, the Egyptian victory was now a dangerous provocation.

To Lucius it had all the hallmarks of witchcraft. Arsinoë obviously knew her sister was a witch, but he had no idea if she knew Cleopatra had turned her attention to destroying Egyptian morale. He very sincerely doubted that there was a huge fleet on the way to bolster Caesar. Not that it mattered. As long as Arsinoë's men believed it, magic or no, it would quickly erode resistance.

Shortly before dawn, he heard sounds of violence. It sounded like a brief, muted scuffle that raised no alarm. He heard a few blows, and then silence. Until the sound of footsteps. Soft, even with the muffling provided by the desert sand. Someone trying not to be heard. Someone trying not to be heard making their way in his direction. The breeze changed slightly, and he identified who it was. Materialising from the gloom, her white linen attire covered with a dull coloured robe, she made a wraith-like appearance. In another moment, Queen Arsinoë herself was unlocking his cage.

"Come."

She was gone as quickly as she'd appeared, leaving the cell door open and apparently confident that he would follow. He did. The queen was already ahead and moving quickly, headed for the stables. By the time she got there, Lucius was immediately behind her. To her credit – and his disappointment – she didn't jump when he spoke.

"Where are you going?"

"Wait here," was all she said.

He watched and waited but made no attempt to hide as she went into the stables. "Ready my chariot, then leave."

There was a few minutes' activity. Two grooms, as well as the queen, plus the horses as they were woken from their bed of straw. Then there was the chink of coin and an order delivered in a low, urgent tone.

"Tell no one."

"My queen."

There was a pause, and then a, "Well, Roman?"

Arsinoë may have made no sign that she felt any fear at his speed, but the horses certainly objected to it. They reared up at his sudden appearance, neighing shrilly. They would have bolted and torn the bridles from Arsinoë's hands had he not held them fast. She spoke to the horses in Egyptian calmly and gently until they calmed down.

Then she turned to him, furious. "There is no reason I need take you with me, Roman, remember that!"

"Also remember there is no reason I now need you," he replied.

She made no answer to that, and merely took the horses' bridles back from him, and now that they were quiet, led them out of the Egyptian camp. She took the most circuitous route she could, and the least watched. Lucius allowed it until they were far enough away that they could be neither seen nor heard.

"What is this?"

"Ganymedes is dead. My men will soon turn on me as well."

"What has that to do with me?"

"I am surrendering to you. You'll take me back to Alexandria, to Caesar, and exchange me for my brother."

"Will I now."

"Or I will travel there alone, you will get none of the credit for my capture, and you will have to slaughter my men to get free. Perhaps you would prefer it that way?"

There was something in the cool, expectant way that she asked the question which caused something like a shiver in the scorching, arid air.

"Do you not know what happens to prisoners taken by the Romans?" he asked.

"I do."

"And still you wish me to take you to Caesar? Even if some of your men turn on you, some will still remain loyal. Perhaps enough to ensure your survival," he put forward.

She stopped and sighed impatiently. Lucius quite enjoyed making a queen explain herself, so did not bother to conceal the smirk on his face. Arsinoë removed it effectively by electing to speak to him as she might an exceptionally stupid child. She even laced her fingers together and looked down her nose. "If I remain, my men will soon betray me – may the Devourer eat their hearts – and hand me over to Caesar anyway. They will attempt to bargain for Ptolemy. I will certainly be taken back to Rome anyway and paraded in the streets for Caesar's glory."

"If you think _this_ will spare you that pain, you are dreaming," he replied scornfully.

The imperiousness was back. "I am not a fool. That will happen regardless. At least this way it will be a fate of _my_ choosing."

"You'll choose torture and humiliation because of your _pride_?"

" _I_ will be able to free Ptolemy!"

"Your brother will do no better than you did against Caesar. Likely a good deal worse," he added, remembering the obvious stupidity of the lad.

She did not reply to that, only stepping up to her chariot, carefully making room for him. "Are you coming, or not?"

He took a few steps closer. "What is to stop me raping and murdering you on the road?" He gestured to the empty desert all around them. "Out here no one would find your body. No one would be able to give it the proper rituals."

The only sign that the queen felt any disquiet at that was a brief flicker of her eyelashes. "In theory, nothing," she acknowledged. "But you won't. You hold yourself in too high regard to need to force yourself on a woman. And I doubt I interest you enough to bother with seducing me."

He climbed up behind her and took the reins. "About that, you are quite wrong."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "Then what a shame time is against us."

The journey to Alexandria was conducted in tense silence. Now that the admission had been made, that he knew she found him as compelling as he did her, his very nature called his attention to her every movement and breath.

* * *

Arsinoë was unaccustomed to the small tinge of threat that she felt at the Roman's proximity. She had rarely felt vulnerable in her life, having encountered it on only a number of occasions. It was novel enough now that it added to the excitement this man stirred inside her; she was only human. She was acutely aware that he was not. What he was, she was slowly piecing together. She would be interested to see how he interacted with Caesar.

"Your sister made an interesting entrance to Alexandria," the Roman said as they approached the walls of the city.

Arsinoë sneered. "I'm sure she did. Carried inside an amphora, was she?"

"Rolled in a carpet," he corrected her.

"I see. Has she seduced Caesar yet?"

"She hadn't, when I was captured. Will she try?"

"It's what she does."

Years of practice when speaking of Cleopatra had removed the tone from Arsinoë's voice, but out here, she allowed the sneer to come onto her face. It was a fact: Cleopatra seduced everyone around her. Arsinoë had long ago come to the conclusion that there must be something her sister was desperately afraid of. To need to control all, even over and above what her birth entitled her to, was surely proof of some fear. Arsinoë had, however, no interest in _why_ Cleopatra was the way she was. They had long ago ceased to be sisters, and were now only rivals. Arsinoë preferred to deal with the realities of the situation: a Pharaoh with no intellectual capacity at all, a rival queen who cared only for herself, and a nation with no one adequate to the task of governing it.

She had failed Egypt, for now at least. All she could do now was determine the manner of her defeat.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

If he expected Arsinoë to grow nervous the closer the got to the Roman-occupied part of the city, he was disappointed. If anything she seemed to calm down, her heartbeat settling and her breathing steady. When they arrived at the stables, she even extended her hand to him. He took it in an automatic gesture as she stepped down.

She stopped, looking surprised that he had. She did not say anything though, merely gave him a questioning, puzzled glance. He had no idea what about a normal gesture was odd given she had accepted the rest of his conduct thus far without raising an eyebrow.

"You should tie my hands," she said. "I am a prisoner, after all." He took the bridle from one of the horses and looped it loosely around her wrists. "Don't be ridiculous, Roman, it has to look real."

He yanked it harder, and she gasped in response. "Better?" he asked.

"I supposed I asked for that," she muttered.

Dragging her into the palace was an interesting experience - despite her official position as an enemy of Rome and of the rightful queen of Egypt, Arsinoë still commanded the respect of everyone they passed. Certainly the slaves and servants physically prostrated themselves onto the floor as they passed. The Romans stared and the Egyptians murmured shock and horror at each other. It was apparent that even a rebel princess was still a princess, and still a figure worthy of devotion whatever happened.

Lucius' swift pace was not only because of the feeling that at any moment an escape attempt might begin, but also because of what Arsinoë had said. He had certainly been gone long enough for Cleopatra to seduce Caesar with witchcraft. Sure enough, when he entered the audience chamber with his prisoner, the two of them reeked of each other's scent. Caesar was not the same dull-eyed, insensible figure the other enthralled guards had been, but there could be no mistaking what had happened. At least it seemed to be lacking the hallmarks of magic.

Beside him, Arsinoë was calm and steady, her face set into an impassive mask. Caesar stepped forwards and gestured for her bindings to be removed. "Princess Arsinoë. Welcome back to Alexandria." He transferred his attention to Lucius. "Well done, _Tribunus_. You have my thanks twice over - for this and for saving my life."

"I would not have killed you, Caesar," Arsinoë said. "You have proven an honourable adversary." She put the faintest stress on the word 'you'.

"As have you, Princess. Even so, I would have found capture and imprisonment inconvenient. Where is Ganymedes?"

"Dead," Lucius replied simply. "The Egyptians killed him."

"Indeed? Strange, considering it was his plan which handed you victory, Princess."

"I cannot explain their actions to you, Caesar. As you say, my victory was complete."

"How dare you?" Cleopatra spoke up suddenly. She shot to her feet and went towards Arsinoë, who shifted slightly to better absorb the blow that was not slow in coming. The smack echoed from the white limestone pillars. "How _dare_ you rebel against me? Against the orders and edicts of Rome?"

Arsinoë looked forwards again. There was a red mark on her cheek, but no tears and no other sign that she might be in pain. "I _dared_ , because Egypt needs a ruler capable of ruling it. I _dared_ because the gods willed me and because I refuse to see our nation become yet another vassal of Rome!" She looked at Caesar. "And now I surrender, Caesar, because I have failed. The only term of my surrender is that you release Ptolemy."

Caesar looked surprised. "You attempt to negotiate while you are already a prisoner?"

"You must know I have agents enough in the city to make life very difficult for an occupying force. I do not have to use them to such purpose."

Caesar's eyes met Lucius', who nodded. He had no trouble believing that much. "I will consider it."

"Consider it swiftly. If Ptolemy is not freed by evening tomorrow, events will overtake both of us."

Caesar repeated, "I will consider your request." Lucius raised an eyebrow. It had hardly been anything as polite as a request. " _Tribunus_ Monsafi will escort you to your chambers. Nothing has been altered since your departure from the city. You will, naturally, be guarded, and all visitors to you will be thoroughly searched."

Arsinoë had nothing else to say, either to Caesar or to Lucius. He was joined in his escort by four other Roman guards, in full battle dress. He was strangely glad that Caesar recognised how dangerous Arsinoë was. Too dangerous, certainly, to be allowed even the smallest degree of freedom.

* * *

Arsinoë was heart-sore and more tired than she could have believed when she was delivered to her chambers. Her ladies - Sabra, Meysene and Gala, were both relieved and stricken to see her. There were tears and hugs on their part, but Arsinoë held back her own tears. She was expecting a final visitor - and she would rather tear her own arm off than allow her to see her cry.

"My queen, what is to be done now?" Gala asked. "What plan is to be enacted to enable you to escape?"

"None. I surrendered freely."

They sat back, silenced.

"Caesar will free King Ptolemy, and the fate of Egypt will rest in his hands."

"But ..."

"No. Ganymedes is -" She swallowed hard at the wave of nausea which accompanied the memory. Two soldiers, neither of whom were under any enchantment, had simply grabbed and slaughtered her mentor before her eyes. They had paid dearly for it, but still. In that moment Arsinoë had lost the only real parent she had ever had. "Ganymedes is dead," she managed. "My own men killed him before my eyes."

"Oh … Oh, I am sorry–"

"I wish for none of your sympathy!" Arsinoë spat harshly. She rose to her feet and hissed, "Do not follow me!"

Once seated on her bed, enshrouded in sheer curtains, her self-control waged a fierce battle with her grief before winning. Still, she only just managed to straighten her back and raise her chin before her visitor arrived. Arsinoë had ordered her ladies to confine themselves to another room for their own safety. The wall at the back of her bedchamber was entirely solid; she knew it was, having tried many times to find a door, a lever or any kind of mechanism which might reveal a hidden passageway. Nonetheless, when Cleopatra appeared, it was through such a passageway.

"Congratulations, sister," Arsinoë said, as soon as the breeze blew, innocuous, over the back of her neck, "you've finally found a man you haven't needed to drug with magic. He really does seem to find you desirable."

"And _you_ have finally been brought to heel," Cleopatra said. She flexed her hand, and Arsinoë felt a pressure encircle her throat.

"Caesar won't like it if you kill me."

"Or else you would not still live," Cleopatra said. "Besides it may not be necessary. Soon you will no longer be a threat."

Arsinoë stared at her sister. "You've seen something."

Cleopatra smoothed a hand over her flat abdomen. "I will bear his son."

"So you get your own Pharaoh, and Rome– What are you imagining, an Emperor?"

Cleopatra looked smug. "I've no need to imagine."

"You cannot even control Egypt, never mind the entirety of Rome!"

"As opposed to you, who cannot even control her own men."

"And you had _nothing_ to do with that."

Cleopatra paced a little, then suddenly stopped and spun around to face Arsinoë with a grin. " _That_ is why you surrendered! It's nothing to do with the might of Rome or Ganymedes' death – you are punishing your men for lack of fealty to you. That is why you pushed for Ptolemy's release. You know any resistance will crumble under his leadership. The men who failed you will be killed, and thus punished." She laughed loudly and shrilly. "I am almost proud of you, little sister."

Arsinoë looked bored, hiding that at least one of Cleopatra's barbs had found its mark. "Is there actually a point to your presence?"

"I wanted to know why you surrendered. Now I know. You really are pathetic. You'll sacrifice yourself on the altar of Caesar's glory to teach a ragtag band of peasants a lesson." The pressure around her neck increased a little. "Do you feel that? That's how you'll die, you know."

The phantom grip grew tighter still, and Arsinoë grabbed handfuls of her bedclothes to keep from clawing at a hand that wasn't there. Cleopatra's gaze sparkled with malice. She strangled Arsinoë until the younger woman was totally unable to breathe, before she let her go.

"Enjoy it, sister." She went back into the wall, leaving Arsinoë gasping for air and with a creeping voice in her head. _And do remember to enjoy the time you have left_.

* * *

The next eight months were, for Lucius, intensely boring. There were occasional diversions (a few poisoning attempts, a couple of would-be assassins as well as a few fires as Cleopatra's pregnancy played havoc with her magic), but nothing that was more than a temporary amusement. On the whole, Egypt had become exceedingly dull. There were a few skirmishes with the Egyptian army, but without Arsinoë's tactical genius driving them, they never presented enough of a challenge to be called battles. No prolonged slaughter, no drawn out dance of violence, meant that he was never tested. It all added up to a very dissatisfied vampire. Still, there was always wine. And Alexandria was not short of women who could see the advantages of a closer relationship with a high-ranking Roman. But again: temporary diversions.

The only interesting thing in the whole situation was watching Arsinoë. Despite the surrender being her idea, and her status as a definite prisoner, Arsinoë was far from relinquishing her power or influence. Overtly, she was a model captive: polite, dignified and unresistant. She played the role so well that, after a month, Caesar's fears of another escape had dimmed to nothing. Even Cleopatra's sense of glee and triumph (and her need to gloat) had merely served Arsinoë in that she no longer viewed her younger sister as any kind of threat at all. Lucius, longer-sighted than both humans and witches, did not look away. Far from losing his interest, Arsinoë had only attracted it further. If any human had ever reminded him of a spider, she did. In mentality, at least. She sat at the centre of a web of people, feeding from the information provided to her by spies, by enemies, by servants and guards. Whereas Cleopatra preferred her servants to be stupid, thus allowing her own intellect to shine, Arsinoë's ladies were no fools. They had obviously been carefully trained as spies, and were the conduits from whom Arsinoë derived all her secrets. Within three months of her capture, the imprisoned Queen had tendrils of a web which stretched throughout every corner of Alexandria. Blackmail and seduction were only the bluntest of her tools. Most of her agents were unaware they _were_ her agents.

Some secrets were cashed in right away, to improve her position. She lived in almost as much luxury as Cleopatra did. She had access to military reports both Egyptian and Roman, saw language tutors and foreign dignitaries from Judea and Nubia. She practiced with weapons (and he'd still not been able to determine how she had smuggled them in) in self-defence. If Caesar or Cleopatra's lackeys happened to be near, she wove cloth and cooed at her pet birds, or had her musicians play so she might dance.

When she requested to be escorted to the temple, Lucius volunteered to be her guard. Once there, she cleansed her hands and feet and was greeted by the High Priest. Their words were innocuous.

"Princess. Welcome home to Alexandria."

"Thank you. It is good to be here on so auspicious a day as the feast of Set. Have you distributed the grain to the people?"

"Alas, princess, I think you are mistaken – the feast of Set is not for some time. It may be many weeks before the harvest is ready."

"What a shame."

There was a sudden clatter and a babble of angry voices as one of Arsinoë's servants knocked over the bowl of cleansing water. It cascaded down the temple steps and washed a cold wave over the sandals of two Roman guards.

"Oh! A thousand apologies, really I am so clumsy, how can I–"

The guards' initial anger quickly gave way against the flirtatious smiles and wide eyes of the women, and within a moment or two all annoyance was forgotten. It had been a distraction for something – but what? He watched Arsinoë closely in their remaining time at the temple. She and the High Priest did not speak to one another other than what he had heard outside. She did not touch anything beyond some incense. No one approached her to give her anything, contraband, information or otherwise. He noted which gods she prayed to.

Isis, from whom she claimed ancestry; Ma'at, goddess of justice and truth; Set, who ruled over chaos; Thoth, associated with knowledge and wisdom as well as the gathering of intelligence; and Sekhmet. Arsinoë's methods, followed by her goal? Sekhmet wore the head of a lioness, and watched over war, fire and revenge.

It was only as they returned to the palace and the bright gleaming of Arsinoë's ornaments no longer reflected the sun that Lucius spotted what was missing. On leaving the palace, she had worn two arm bracelets. Now only one remained.

He decided to test her. "Well played," he said to her as they moved towards her quarters. "I did not see you hand it over at all."

She looked up at him sharply, but there was more mischief than alarm in her dark eyes. "I have no idea what you mean."

"I merely offer congratulations to a skilled opponent."

" _Are_ we opponents? I have surrendered my life into Rome's hands."

"Is that so."

"If you believe otherwise, and choose to see something in nothing –"

"There is definitely something. I think you agree?"

She stopped and faced him fully. The same current flowed between them as he had felt in the Egyptian camp. It felt like they were alone. "You should take it as a lesson then," she said.

"Not taking my eyes from you will be an easy lesson to learn."

"Then you must grant me a request too," she said, walking again.

"And what is that?"

"Look at me from the front," she replied, "so that I might enjoy what _I_ see.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Once alone with her ladies, Arsinoë turned to business. "Well?"

"The guard charged with watching over you at night is in my bed," Sabra replied.

"Meysene?"

"I am confident I will have leverage over my target by this evening, my Queen."

"Good. Gala?"

"The guard you assigned me to does not desire women, my Queen, but he has suffered heavy gambling losses in the city."

"Purchase the debt and make it clear I am not interested in financial repayment."

"It will be done."

"What did High Priest Djau say, my Queen?"

"Nothing you did not hear. He advises against rebellion. There are not enough funds in place yet to buy either arms or the loyalty of the people. What I gave him should be enough you secure more weapons, however."

"And the _t_ _ribunus_?" Meysene asked. "He knows what you gave Djau. Does he know why?"

Arsinoë exhaled. Truthfully, she continued to be discomfited by her once-captive-turned-jailor. Their exchange in the hallway had excited her, and she was not ignorant of her body and the response she had to him. Nor was she ignorant of the dangers he posed – he might not be a threat to her person, but that was only because he did not wish to be. If he did wish harm, he would inflict that harm on the whole of Alexandria, she was sure.

"Yes," she said finally. "But I do not believe he intends to stop me."

Sabra was obviously unconvinced. "My Queen, if he betrays what he has seen."

"It will mean my ruin, Sabra, I am not a fool. But I say again: I do not believe he will act against me or my interests."

"He is a Roman."

Arsinoë's hand flashed out to slap Sabra's cheek. Sabra, her eyes watering, nodded and bowed to show she understood her tone had been unacceptable. The Queen gentled. Sabra only cared for her. "He is … different. Other."

"He frightens me."

"If he is what I think he is," Arsinoë replied, "he should."

"Even one such as he might be useful," Meysene put forward. "He likes women."

"No," Arsinoë said quickly. "No, that won't work. I'm sure he'd do a credible job, but bedding him as a means to an end would be fruitless. But I do want to know more about him. Where does he come from, how long as he been with Caesar … why is he here?"

"My Queen."

"Now, I wish to bathe. Have a bath drawn."

Unlike Cleopatra's milk-baths (taken once a full moon, and for reasons that were incomprehensible), Arsinoë's bath was merely water, though accentuated by a little jasmine oil which made the liquid feel silky on her skin. Arsinoë undressed and unbound her thick black hair before stepping gratefully into the cool water. She took a deep breath before slipping until its surface completely, her eyes shut. It was here, and only here, that she allowed herself vulnerability. Questions driven by self-doubt flooded her mind.

What did she hope to achieve?

Surely, full-scale rebellion was out of the question?

Was this not all a huge waste of time and resources, spent pursuing an unattainable goal?

Why could she not relinquish her own ambitions?

Did the gods truly intend for her to be Queen?

If she _was_ destined to be Queen, why did she feel so isolated?

Once again, her thoughts flashed to Ganymedes. She had slaughtered the men who killed him swiftly and without hesitation. But then she had been left to clasp her mentor in her arms while blood foamed around his teeth and dripped from his mouth. He had not managed a word, merely bulging eyes and gasping, increasingly weakening breaths before he died. Cleopatra had not been entirely wrong when she said that Arsinoë had wanted to punish her men. But whatever her reasons for surrendering to the _tribunus_ , there was a gap in her life that was not being bridged. She had no one she could speak to on an equal level, either in station or intellect. No one she could share her secrets with. No one she could trust without reserve.

Sabra's hand shook her shoulder. She ignored it until her lungs ran dry, and she had to break the surface of the water to breathe. She wiped her eyes and opened them, only to find a pair of copper eyes inches from her own. The ensuing gasp of alarm contained a mixture of air and a large proportion of water.

The _tribunus_ ' hand clamped around her upper arm in a grip that she could feel down to the bone, and he lifted her bodily from her bath without any effort. He then deposited her on the floor without ceremony and from a height great enough to make her knees buckle. Sabra caught her and hastily draped a linen around her.

Arsinoë slicked her wet hair back and glared up at her Roman interloper. "I hadn't realised you were being quite so literal when you threatened to never take your eyes from me."

"An attempt has been made on Queen Cleopatra's life."

"Ah." She leaned around his bulk to see the dozen other Romans currently tearing apart her furnishings. "So this is not a social call then."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he gave no other sign he was anything but concerned for her sister's welfare. "Move your ladies to the centre of the room. Do not touch anything."

Arsinoë gestured for Sabra, Gala and Meysene to follow his order. "I take it by 'attempt', you mean that my sister still lives."

"She does."

"And is still pregnant."

"She is."

Arsinoë nodded with a sigh. "And I suppose there is little point in stating that this particular assassination attempt had nothing to do with me."

"Not much point, no. Particularly since, even if you did not orchestrate it, you definitely had knowledge of it."

"I couldn't possibly comment." They watched in silence as the Romans continued their search. "Exactly what do you think you might find under my bed?" Arsinoë asked.

He shrugged. "Poison. Knives. Garrotting ropes."

"Sir!"

They both looked at the guard who had been worming under Arsinoë's bed on his belly. He had come out bearing a wooden box a few cubits long. Arsinoë winced, and the _tribunus_ looked at her sharply as though he could hear her heart beat faster. She was not ashamed of the contents of the box – it was merely that she had imagined showing them to _him_ under circumstances rather different than these. Ideally they would be alone, for a start.

He took the box from the guard and opened it. He stared for a full minute before he looked at her again, and this time, the smile was not twitching his mouth so much as it was dancing wickedly in his eyes. "At the very least, some of these might be used to club someone to death."

"That would be a waste of fine craftsmanship, do you not agree?"

"Perhaps. But it is entirely possible you could garrote someone with this," he said, pulling out a length of pearlescent silk.

"Not its intended purpose though."

"Which I imagine to be somewhat more …"

"Recreational?" she supplied.

" … than murder."

"Somewhat."

They were being stared at by Romans and Egyptians alike when Arsinoë had to look away in order to contain her grin. A few moments later the search was complete. "No sign of any poison, _Tribunus_."

"Ah, so it was poison," Arsinoë murmured. "Not very imaginative."

"Cleopatra's food taster died after taking some wine."

"The food taster?" She sniffed. "That's positively clumsy."

"Cleopatra has also tasted the wine. Thus far, however, there are no ill effects."

"Well, one can't expect everything."

"Who was it?" he asked seriously.

"I have only suspicions."

"Share them with me."

* * *

She narrowed her eyes in consideration. When she spoke, it was in a voice pitched so deliberately low that no one else stood a chance of hearing it. "Calpurnia and Gaius Octavian. They corresponded a lot until about a month ago."

He nodded. It made sense – they were the two people in Rome who posed the greatest threat Cleopatra and her child. After all, they had the most to lose. However, they were two people it would be impossible to accuse. Caesar's wife and his great-nephew were obvious suspects and completely untouchable. His attention was caught by the sounds of shouting and running from outside.

He looked towards the door, and Arsinoë followed his gaze. "What is it?" she asked.

He strode towards the door. "Stay with Queen Arsinoë. She is not to receive any visitors, nor send any messages, understood?"

His men all saluted. "Sir!"

Outside, he quickly discovered what the commotion was about. The poison had not killed Cleopatra, but it had apparently induced early labour. Caesar – and consequently the entire palace – were in an uproar. Nothing seemed to happen for about two days, however, so Lucius took the opportunity to feed well while everyone was distracted. The blood was nourishing but unsatisfying in the method of its acquisition. With all the uncertainty in the air, Alexandrians were already afraid. It was disappointing – he enjoyed inspiring fear. The atmosphere calmed a little when Cleopatra was safely delivered of a son.

Caesar was over the moon with joy. Cleopatra was canny enough to make sure that he had to legally recognise the boy. She ordered that he be placed gently at Caesar's feet. Ordinarily, Lucius might have issued a word of caution against it. However, his attention was focused on a faint, high-pitching signing that had come into the room with the boy. He knew instantly that it was the song of a witch's blood, just as Philipus had described it. The boy was a witch, and a powerful one at that.

Ignorant of it, Caesar immediately picked up his son and paraded him about the room.

* * *

Within an hour of her nephew's birth, Arsinoë knew everything there was to know about him. The birth had been slow to get started, but Cleopatra had delivered safely. The child was healthy, a male, and a witch. Given that he had only just arrived in this world, it was with regret, but resolve, that she put her plans into motion.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Caesar ordered a guard on his son around the clock. Not trusting the Egyptians, he hand-picked those among his own men whom he trusted absolutely. Lucius was among them, a fact which surprised him. His contempt for Cleopatra was hardly well concealed, and he knew that Caesar had suspicions regarding his true loyalties. He had already written to his father detailing the alarming nature of Caesar's son. Cleopatra would be a vassal of Rome for as long as Rome kept her queen of Egypt. There was no guarantee whatsoever that a witch of Roman _and_ Egyptian blood (and more or less royalty on both sides) would be happy with that. Which made the child a much more dangerous prospect than either of his parents.

Lucius, mercifully, was put in charge of the guard rotation, so unashamedly spared himself from guard duty. He was not spared the morning inspection to the child. In the room this morning were the boy's wet nurse, four guards, and a slave who had come to douse the oil lamps and open the blinds, now unnecessary in the bright morning light. The smoke flared from the wicks as the lamps were doused, temporarily filling the room with a light fog.

Ceasar led the way over to the crib to coo over his son. The child was sleeping, but the high-pitching wailing resonated in Lucius' ears even so. Gods, no wonder vampires hated witches. This was intolerable. He found himself tracing the child's blood around his tiny body, only half listening to Caesar's inquiries to the wet nurse about how well the babe fed.

Then a scent caught his attention. It did not belong in the room – coconut matting, sweat, olive oil, leather – and was lurking at the very edge of his senses. And if he was only just detecting it, there was no chance any of the humans were. Two thumps signalled the guards closest to the crib falling to the floor, out cold. Lucius looked up to see Caesar was swaying.

He scooped the newborn up with one arm and dragged Caesar out with the other. It did not take long for the general to recover his senses, and when he did, he surged forwards to take the child.

"He lives," Lucius said. "But we should get him outside as soon as we can."

Before he did so, Caesar turned to grip Lucius' arm. "Find me who did this."

It was not a difficult thing to guess.

Searches of Arsinoë's rooms turned up nothing, which he had expected. He had her ladies followed, and turned up nothing, which he had expected. She was too clever to allow any slip ups – bad enough that her plan had not succeeded. However, he had more success in tracing the oil in the lamps. Cleopatra had acquired it specifically from the temple; it was anointed holy oil meant to protect her son.

When he visited the temple, he found the quarter master kept meticulous records. "Yes, yes," he squeaked as Lucius loomed over him. "Queen Cleopatra did order holy oil, but we had none remaining."

"None? You keep none in reserve for the royal family?"

"O-Of course, we-we do, it's just …"

"Just?"

"A delivery was made to P-princess Arsinoë three days ago. Here."

He held out a piece of papyrus, and Lucius scanned it quickly. _Got her_. The order could not have been clearer: Arsinoë wanted the holy oil from the temple to purify her rooms, and High Priest Djau had overseen its anointing personally. What he had was not quite proof, but it was close enough to test Arsinoë's nerve.

An hour later he was being ushered in to her rooms, where she was nonchalantly scattering birdseed for her pets to bob their brightly coloured heads down to. "Have you come to arrest me?" she asked.

"Not quite yet. I came to see if you would give me the name of the servant you used to put the poisoned oil in the lamps."

She looked at him, her black eyes mirrors and her expression a blank mask. "Poisoned oil?"

"I've been to the temple. You ordered it."

"I did order some holy oil from the temple. For my prayers. It never arrived. My sister commandeered it."

"As you no doubt knew she would."

"And if it was poisoned, well – surely that means someone was trying to kill _me_."

He shook his head. "That won't do, Arsinoë. I admire your ruthlessness, truly. But you overreached. If you give me the name of the servant who carried out your orders, I will not have to track and torture perhaps innocent people."

She chuckled. "And deny you your fun? _Tribunus_ , come now. Surely we understand one another better than that."

"Or I might recommend _your_ interrogation. You have no idea what I might do to you."

Her smile disappeared, but she moved closer until she was inches from him. "I am willing to believe there is much you want to do to me."

"This is unworthy of you," he growled.

"Are you? How disappointing."

She turned away, but his instincts would not allow her to move far. He clamped one arm around her waist, the other on her neck. There was an initial, instinctual urge to flee in her, punctuating the air and making it even more difficult to think. He pushed his hips forward against hers, enough to feel him hardening already.

"You won't like me like this," she said.

"Do you still believe I will not rape you?"

Her ladies, all of whom had suddenly armed themselves from somewhere, were getting closer. Arsinoë gestured them to stop with a slight motion of her hand. Clearly, none of them liked it, but they obeyed her order.

She returned her attention to Lucius' question. "If you do, then you will have me now, and then never hereafter. But yes, I believe that. You're seeing your prey slip from your grasp and you don't like it, that's all." She turned her head slightly. "But you've made a mistake."

Lucius' eyes were on her mouth, which as it turned out, was a second mistake. Quick for a human, but not so fast he could not have stopped her, a dagger had appeared in Arsinoë's hand. She had plunged it into his lower abdomen before it had occurred to him she might actually do it.

She was facing him now, her black eyes alight with fury. "I am not prey." She yanked the blade out and stepped backwards. When the wound healed in seconds, something like triumph gleamed in her gaze. "Go," she commanded. "Do what you must. Torture whoever you want. But do not think to speak to me again until you _are_ worthy."

She turned on her heel and stalked out to her balcony, glaring at the Egyptian night. Fury practically radiated from her, emphasised by the ramrod straight line of her back and the squareness of her shoulders. She had dropped the dagger on the floor, leaving a small splash of his blood. Her heart was thundering, and she was breathing quickly – as was he. It was a difficult battle between willpower and instinct for Lucius before he was able to leave Arsinoë's quarters.

High Priest Djau was his next port of call. It was a good thing that Caesar had allowed him full rein to do whatever he felt necessary – after his confrontation with the Queen, Lucius was more than ready for a little torture. He didn't bother with subtleties – he began with pinning the high priest against the wall of his own temple, his left arm twisted behind his back.

"You provided the oil."

"I– I oversaw its sanctifying, y–ye–"

"You ordered its poisoning!"

"No, I swear–"

Wrong answer. Lucius gently pushed upwards. Djau's arm popped from the joint at the shoulder. A scream rent the air. Lucius waited until the echoes of it had stopped before he spoke again. "The next will break your arm if you do not tell me the truth. I know you are loyal to Arsinoë. She wants the child dead."

"I … am loyal … to Queen Cleop–"

The crack which resulted from his broken wrist was quite satisfying. The cry of pain even more so. Another of the priests came forward to protest. "This is a sacred place, Roman, you cannot profane it–"

One of Lucius' men raised his gladius pointedly. The priest stopped.

Lucius returned his attention to Djau. "I should tell you that the next one will be a leg bone. Difficult to administer to the gods when you can't walk, wouldn't you agree?"

"I swear to high Osiris, there was _nothing_ in the oil," Djau sobbed. Lucius gave a short sigh and put his foot against Djau's shin. He applied pressure. Not enough to break the bone. Not yet. Enough to hurt though. "I swear, I swear – Arsinoë wanted the child dead!" he babbled.

Lucius stopped pushing. "At last."

"I know she wants the child dead. But it wasn't the oil. It wasn't _me_ …"

Lucius considered. There was little reason for Djau to implicate Arsinoë if he was not confessing to the poisoning, but really, as far as torture went, he'd barely started. He pushed the high priest towards his men. "Take him to the palace. Lock him up. We'll revisit this conversation after I search the temple."

"Yes, sir."

He wanted to search alone, knowing that it would be easier to smell the poison without the scent of men muddying it. He took everything in the high priest's chambers apart methodically and meticulously – and found nothing. There was no trace of the faint scent he had got in the palace. Furthermore, anointing of holy oil was done by no less than three priests saying prayers over it simultaneously, so it was unlikely Djau could have poisoned it without witnesses.

A little torture, and time away from Arsinoë, had calmed him down. Enough to consider, carefully, the situation. It was unlikely that he would find evidence which linked Arsinoë to the assassination attempt; she was too clever for that. But he had no doubt whatsoever that it _had_ been her doing. If–

" _Tribunus! Tribunus_ , sir!" A legionnaire burst into the temple. He was bloodied and sweating.

Lucius came out of Djau's quarters into the main temple. "What's happened?"

"There was– A chariot, came racing out of nowhere. Out of control horses. Two of our men and Djau, they're–"

"Dead," Lucius finished. No. He was never going to find evidence to link Arsinoë to the assassination attempt. _Too clever by half._

"Yes, sir. Djau, he's– he's like paste on the road."

"Fine. Fine. Let's go."

Lucius didn't waste any more time – he went straight to Caesar. Caesar listened carefully. "You are sure it was her?"

"Yes. She has the motivation; of anyone, the child is the biggest threat to her. I have witnessed her and the high priest conspiring myself. And she has just had him killed, in order to prevent him telling us more."

Cleopatra was white with fury. When she shot to her feet, it was with a shockwave that cracked the throne to its foundations. "I will kill her!" Even Caesar took a step back.

"She will be killed!" Lucius barked. "She will be taken to Rome and paraded in tribute!"

The smell of magic increased, and the air shimmered around Cleopatra. "Get out of my way, _leech_ ," she hissed.

He was fast enough to kill her. "There is no evidence!"

"Cleopatra, stop," Caesar exclaimed, pulling her back. "He's right. We cannot convict her on suspicion alone!"

"Convict her?" Cleopatra roared. "I will tear her apart!"

"No. You won't." With Caesar holding her fast, Cleopatra's rage turned into a storm of passionate sobbing. Lucius watched her without much pity. Caesar turned to him, no less angry than his lover but better controlled. "Get that woman out of Alexandria on the next tide, do you understand?"

Lucius saluted. "Caesar."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Citrus ahead!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Arsinoë was highly glad she did not suffer from seasickness. Meysene and Sabra both did, and both were currently arrayed in two distinct shades of green. Sabra, the worse-off of the two, was bent over the gunwale, retching. Arsinoë gently rubbed at her back with one hand, the other holding her hair out of the way.

"I– I am ashamed of my– wea–" She heaved, and once more lost her battle with her nausea.

"Hardly a weakness, Sabra," Arsinoë soothed. "The Romans are the same, are they not?"

Sabra spared a glance towards the other side of the ship, where seven of their twelve escorts could be seen in a similar state. "True. I think I feel better, my Queen."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Come and rest then."

"My Queen."

Arsinoë tucked Sabra into a bunk, and once she was sure that Sabra would not get up again and try to find some way to serve her, she went back up on deck. They were a week out of Alexandria, the first time in Arsinoë's life that her feet did not walk upon the soil of her home nation. She couldn't say she enjoyed the gentle rocking motion of the ship, but her true disquiet came from being separated from Egypt. From not knowing if she would ever be able to go home again. She had not cried, but that well of emotion was there, should she wish to tap into it. It was tempting, particularly when she was alone as she was now.

There was the creak of footsteps behind her. Deliberately noisy footsteps, which she had come to identify only with one person. Again, she wondered what kind of man had to go out of his way to make his approach audible. _No,_ she thought. _Not a man. No man hears or heals like he did._ Whatever he was, he had disappointed her. She'd not spoken to him since she stabbed him. She had thought him her equal, and to feel him ready to rape her was, quite frankly, both disgusting and oddly tedious. Any Roman might do that. Any man might display such a lack of imagination as to assume–

"It wasn't the oil."

She bestowed look on him, but remained silent.

"If it was the oil, the child would have been dead the night before, as soon as the lamps were lit."

She lifted an eyebrow. _Go on._

"It was the slave who doused the lamp. He either added something to the lamps knowingly – unlikely – or brought something into the room unwittingly."

Arsinoë brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I am inclined to believe it was the lamp snuffer." He paused. "Not that anyone could prove it now. The slave in question is dead and we are far from Alexandria."

She smiled. "A poison on the tool used to snuff the lamps. It is dispersed into the air on contact with heat."

"Indeed? It must be rare."

"Rare in its preparation, not its ingredients."

"It nearly worked."

"It would have, had you not been there," she pointed out.

He nodded.

"How _did_ you know?"

"The smell."

That poison had no smell, she knew. It was one of the reasons she had chosen it. But she didn't doubt him. They lapsed into a silence, in which Arsinoë watched a pod of dolphins race the ship and the _tribunus_ watched her. When the dolphins had got bored and moved away, she looked back at him.

"How long will we be at sea?"

"That depends. If we try and go straight to Rome, about a month."

"A month. A long time."

That made him laugh. "Are you worried you will be bored, my lady?"

She stepped closer. "It will be taxing, trying to find a way to fill the time."

"Indeed? With all your tricks and toys?"

She gave a little sigh. "Unfortunately, with the rush to leave Alexandria, that _particular_ box was left behind. So …" Deciding to be direct, she lifted a hand and ran it down his muscled forearm. His skin was shockingly cool in the warm sunlight. "… I'll have to make do with the real thing, I suppose."

He reached up and took her hand, turning to face her fully. Her fingers now rested against his chest, and his eyes were dark. "Is this a seduction, Queen Arsinoë?"

This close, the timbre of his voice rumbled through her in a really quite delicious way. She grinned. "If you have to ask, _Tribunus_ , you really haven't been paying attention."

" _Tribunus?_ "

With a genuine sigh this time, Arsinoë moved unhurriedly away. Partly because the moment had obviously passed, and partly because she had to, in order not to laugh at the expression on her would-be lover's face. She was half-expecting to hear a splash as he threw the Roman who had interrupted them into the sea.

* * *

The man in front of him was visibly wilting under the heat of Lucius' glare. " _Speak._ "

"A-Apologies, sir, we– That is, the captain– he–'

"He _what_?"

"He wanted to speak to you, regarding our voyage."

He shoved past the man, knocked him to the deck, and approached the back of the ship where the _trierarch_ was, steering the ship with his hand on the tiller. " _Tribunus_ ," he greeted. He had apparently been too far away to see what he had interrupted.

"You wanted to see me?" Normally, Lucius did not consider himself polite. But even he would not risk pissing off the captain of a ship in the middle of the ocean.

"Yes. Do you intend for us to stop for provisions at Cyprus, or Ephesus?"

"Neither. Sail straight for Rome."

The trierarch looked surprised. "That is not usual."

"Do you not have provisions for it?"

"Of course, but–"

"Are you unaware of _who_ we are escorting to Rome?"

"No."

"Then surely you understand the necessity of heading directly for Rome."

"The men will not like it. Rowing for a month without pause is not easy work."

"That is what they're being paid for, however," Lucius observed. Unlike some of their contemporaries, Roman triremes were not crewed by galley slaves, and those men who propelled the ship when there was little wind were given a generous salary for it.

"Even so. It's a long time in the dark. And after a month at sea, the smell will be … noticeable."

Lucius grimaced. 'Noticeable' for humans meant 'thick enough to choke on' for him. But still – the longer they were at sea, the more time there was for them to be scuppered by a storm. "Alright. Ephesus."

"Cyprus is–"

"Cyprus is under the control of Queen Cleopatra, who wishes to murder our prisoner. Best we don't make it too easy for her,"

The captain smiled. "Aye."

Night fell quickly on the sea, though with a full moon and a sky full of stars, it was easy enough to navigate. Arsinoë's ladies seemed to have recovered from their seasickness, as he could hear them chatting and laughing together. It made him irrationally angry that he still could not get a firm hold on her character. She maintained such a poise, such _calm_ at all times – she was being taken to her death, she had no right to be playing games on the way there, surely? He could not tell if she was being fatalistic or had truly accepted her fate.

Needing to move, and with limited space in which to do it, he set up sparring matches with his men. It helped, a little, since because he had to limit his physical strength, he had to be inventive in finding ways to take his opponents apart without actually taking them apart. It was also a good opportunity for gambling and drinking, which everyone enjoyed. Lucius made a point never to bet against himself – or suffer from false modesty. It was during his fifth match that Arsinoë came out on deck to observe. It was during the eighth match that he became aware he was showing off for her. Judging by the heated looks she was sending him, she did appreciate that fact.

His last opponent actually presented somewhat of a challenge. In an ideal world, he would move before the man had blinked and snap his neck, but not here. Here, when Quintus swung his scatha, Lucius met the blow with his own, before bringing his knee up and winding Quintus. After that it was a simple enough thing to bash him on the head, sweep his feet out from under him and then pointedly hold his blade to the throat.

Quintus nodded, struggling to breathe properly as he lay on the deck. "Yield."

Lucius helped him up, soon surrounded by a small crowd of cheering Romans. After that came more drinking and more gambling. A short step from there to talking about women.

"No, no, no, no, you're thinking of _Phoenicians_ ," Gaius insisted. "Now _their_ women know what they're doing."

"And a priestess of Bacchus doesn't? Quintus, Quintus, back me up here–"

"Don't look at me, lad, I'm a poor judge of women. Those Cretan boys, on the other hand …"

" _Tribunus_? What about you?"

"What about me?" Lucius asked. "Those of you with us in Gaul know exactly what I like."

There was a short round of nudging before the bravest, Marcus, asked, "You've not developed a taste for Egyptians, then?"

There was a chorus of ribald laughter and a lot of knowing elbowing going on. Lucius grinned. "Only the royal ones."

It was well past midnight by the time the men went to bed, Lucius not among them. He had slept four nights ago, and didn't feel the need to sleep again tonight. Lucius lay on the deck and looked at the stars, listening to the noises of the ship and the sea. The deep, groaning creak of timbers; the billowing of the wind in the sails; the droning snores of the men; a whale crooning haunting melodies fathoms below them; the ever-present hum of heartbeats. There was also the talking and laughter of the only women for miles. After he'd listened for a few minutes to their quiet chat, it was with amusement that he realised they were having the same discussion he and his men had.

"...almost knew what he was doing."

Laughter. "Almost?"

"Well. Enthusiasm counts for something. Young men are like that. Eager to learn, eager to please."

"And eager to finish too," Arsinoë put in.

"Well, there is that."

"But in earnest: I hope none of you have left your hearts behind in Alexandria," the queen said. She actually sounded concerned.

"No," Gala said. It sounded like she was smiling. "Not so long as Meysene is by my side."

There was the brief sound of a kiss. "And you, my lady?" Meysene asked. "I hope you'll forgive me if I point out you and your sister seem to have at least one thing in common."

"A shared taste for Romans, you mean?" Arsinoë asked amusedly.

"Although I grant you, yours is easier on the eyes. And that little display was obviously for your benefit, wasn't it?"

"Oh, I benefitted."

"He still frightens me." Sabra that time. Sensible, Lucius thought.

"Good thing his attention wasn't on _you_ then," Gala said.

"Still. Can that really please you, my Queen?"

He imagined Arsinoë stretching languidly, a smile on her face. The same smile she'd directed at him earlier that day. "Yes. It pleases me. Just as it pleases me to look at him. And it pleases me to talk with him. And it will please me to take him to bed, I'm sure."

"And when will that be?" Sabra asked. "I would like to know, so that I can get out of the way."

Arsinoë laughed. "Not tonight, at any rate. Goodnight, ladies."

It occurred to him to go to her cabin now and make that imagining into a reality. He was halfway to it when another sound reached him. It was Arsinoë again. Softly, but obviously, pleasuring herself. Heat rushed through Lucius' body as he listened to the sound. He felt no shame in doing so; it was very obvious that Arsinoë knew he was not an ordinary man, after all, and he would have bet all the gold in Rome she intended for him to hear her. He closed his eyes and pictured her, brown skin gleaming bronze in the light of an oil lamp. One elegant hand cupping her breast, the other being drawn slowly up her thigh. The image was so vivid that he felt himself swelling to hardness. He couldn't be sure how Arsinoë would use her own hands, but he knew exactly how he would use his own. He'd smooth his fingers up her legs, lingering a little in at the back of her knee before teasing along her inner thigh. Arsinoë gave a little whimper from inside, a sound which caused another jolt of heat down to his groin. He reached down to take hold of his cock, grunting quietly. She moaned again, and he pictured taking one of her dusky nipples between forefinger and thumb, pinching softly and then harder. Her back would arch, her hips push forward, seeking his touch. He would oblige her, moving downwards, his fingers through her dark thatch of soft curls, to reach her core. The tempo of Arsinoë's pleasure increased, her breath coming in sharp pants. He moved his hand faster too, keeping pace with her. If they were together, she would be wet from the first instant, but would fall still as he touched her, her dark eyes alight and fixed on his. He would push one finger inside her too slowly, slowly enough to make her snap her hips up angrily while his thumb teasingly circled her clit. Just as she lost her patience, he would curl a second finger inside her. There were more moans from the queen. She was close – he was too, mentally urging her on. Finally, he would press firmly against her clit, grinding against it with the heel of his hand until she- until she- A muffled cry issued from Arsinoë as she came. A second later, he did too, his seed spurting out to cover his hand.

There was a moment of absolute stillness when he listened to her heart thundering, waiting for her next breath. It was a long, shuddering one, coupled with a deeply satisfied moan.

In a dreamy, satiated voice, she asked, "Was it good for you too?"

He choked out a laugh. _You have no idea._ Although evidently, she did.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Some of this is taken directly from _Cleopatra,_ which I also don't own**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

Two days away from Ephesus, the sky darkened. The storm was obviously unnatural – it did not follow the wind, for one, and some of the clouds had faces. Cleopatra's face was the clearest. Other clouds in the storm had the faces of other witches. Arsinoë had to admit, she was surprised. She knew her sister did not have the power to reach her this far from Alexandria, but she did not know she had the diplomatic skills to bring other witches into a coven with her.

For herself, she couldn't say how she felt about it. She was to die anyway, so what difference did it make, in Rome or at sea? The Romans seemed to think it made a great deal of difference, however. A sense of urgency came over the ship, and the _tribunus_ ordered the crew to row at double speed in order to get them to Ephesus quickly. It was heavy going, as the sea responded to Cleopatra's magic as well as the sky did. By the time they sailed into the harbour, the ship was rolling significantly, and a driving rain lashed them. They were lucky, however – over the next twelve hours, the storm reached fever pitch.

Arsinoë watched it rage from the safety of dry land. _Tribunus_ Monsafí had surprised her by taking her to the Temple of Artemis, rather than a prison cell. Traditionally, the temple was a place of asylum, somewhere for exiles and those deemed worthy enough to live their lives out peacefully. _Not_ meant for people who had humiliated Rome's most prestigious general in battle. The high priest of the temple had been cordial but cautious, although he had designated relatively luxurious quarters for her and her escort, even including servants.

Someone else's servants, of course, meant added risk. Any halfwit would expect at least one assassination attempt, and Arsinoë was no halfwit. Dinner was served, and with it, wine. The _tribunus_ had pronounced it awful, but not poisonous. She had a food-taster test it anyway. The food taster then delicately – and not discreetly enough – wiped the rim.

"Why did you do that?" Arsinoë asked, after she had taken it.

The woman jumped. She had been almost to the door, apparently thinking that she might have got away with it. She turned carefully. "My- My lady?"

"Don't play at foolishness. Are you my sister's agent?"

Arsinoë's guards pointed their weapons. The _tribunus_ didn't bother with weapons; he merely grabbed the servant by her hair and lifted her. "Answer the queen's question."

The servant struggled, her feet flapping in mid-air, but when she fell to her knees she stayed there, shrieking piteously. "I had no choice! She threatened– She said she would– Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me …" She fell into a storm of passionate weeping.

Arsinoë stood. She gently lifted the crying woman and smiled. "Of course I forgive you." She offered the poisoned chalice. "Now drink it."

There were muffled gasps from a couple of the Romans and the other servants. Her ladies, of course, knew her too well to imagine she would be merciful. She glanced at the _tribunus_ and saw an impressed half-smile curl the corner of his mouth.

The would-be assassin looked at her, and seeing she was serious, reached out with trembling hands to take the cup. Behind her, the _tribunus_ gripped the hilt of his _scatha_. It was clear: death by poison or death by Roman. The woman chose the poison, and gulped down the wine. Within seconds, she began to tremble and writhe, falling to the ground. After a moment, white foam appeared around her mouth, and she was dead.

The _tribunus_ gestured to a couple of his men. "Take her away."

Arsinoë resumed her seat and her meal. "Well, that would have been unpleasant."

"I'm putting a guard on you at all times," the _tribunus_ said. "You trust your women completely?"

"I trust them not to assassinate me, yes."

"Then you take nothing unless it comes from them. Every drop of liquid and crumb of food will be tasted, understand?" He directed his remarks primarily to Sabra, which confirmed Arsinoë's suspicions that he had heard Sabra said she feared him. It also meant he had heard everything else she had intended him to that night, she realised.

Sabra nodded. "I understand."

He turned and left Arsinoë's chambers with a thunderous expression on his face. "Now where's he gone?" Gala asked.

"To find out how Megabyzos allowed an assassin into his temple, I imagine," Arsinoë murmured. She was somehow not surprised that he would take it so personally. She was his prisoner, after all. Every attempt to kill her was a reflection on him. "And to hurry the merchants. We won't be staying longer than a night or two in Ephesus now."

The next day dawned clear and bright, and Arsinoë woke feeling rested and well. There was a commotion from outside the temple, and when Meysene arrived with breakfast, it was to say that hundreds of people had come, to see if they could glimpse her. She had become a spectacle to be gawked at. Wonderful. "At least it will keep the Romans busy."

They spoke in a dialect not commonly used in Egypt for a few hundred years, as it was the only way to ensure they would not be overheard.

"It will also slow down our departure," Gala pointed out. "And perhaps enable your agents to bring reports to you."

"True."

"They have also come to see you for another reason. As a direct descendant of Alexander, you could be their queen too."

She smiled. "Egypt would be enough for me."

"Well, the priests are impressed with your lineage. And after what the _tribunus_ said and did about your would-be assassin, they are none too enamoured of Rome. I bribed a couple of them," Meysene said, "and gave them your mark, my queen. They should have something for us today."

"Good. Gala, get the _mehen_ board. Let's play while we wait."

They played _mehen_ for a few hours, as it was easy to pass the time with and good for playing with more than two people. Towards noon, and after Gala had won three games in a row, Arsinoë decided she would rather play _senet_. It was less reliant on dice, and more on strategy. They had just set out the pieces when the _tribunus_ came in. He watched them in silence for a moment. When Arsinoë moved one of her pieces into obvious danger, he made noise of derision.

She gave him a challenging look. "Oh, I suppose you could do better?"

"Better than you're managing at the moment, certainly."

She gestured to the other side of the board. "By all means then. Let's play."

They reset the board, and as the game belonged to her, the guest player made the first move. The _tribunus_ picked up his pawn, but hesitated. "Why don't we make this interesting?"

She cast him a look. "I've already made it clear I'm willing to give you _that_ , have I not?"

"Ah, but I am in possession of something you might find even more attractive." He pulled out a scroll. "Such as this, perhaps? The latest report from your spy in Cleopatra's ladies. It made for quite interesting reading."

She eyed the scroll carefully. "There is no guarantee that you are telling the truth. And if you are, then you certainly have no incentive to give it to me."

"But neither would you lose anything," he pointed out.

"You've not yet said what you would demand should you win the bet."

"As you've said: nothing you have not already offered."

It seemed as though she would win either way – which automatically made her suspicious. Still, there were no other ways available for her to pass the time. "Alright. A wager."

The _tribunus_ moved his pawn. The aim of the game was to be the first player to create a block of three pieces guarded by pawns at the opposite end of the board. Each player could take up to five of their opponent's pieces.

"How is it you know the rules of _senet_?" she asked. "Most Egyptians don't these days."

"I was stuck in Alexandria for the entire duration of your sister's pregnancy," he pointed out. "And your brother's forces provided nothing in the way of combative distraction."

"So it was learn new games or go mad?"

"Or go on a murderous rampage, yes," he agreed. Sabra shot him an alarmed look, but his tone made Arsinoë smile. It was distinctly distracted, as the game demanded his attention. She was not making it easy for him. And she wanted that report.

Their game went on for a good two hours, each of them formulating and then discarding strategies as new moves were made. She decided that she did not believe he had only been playing this game for months; his playing was inventive and his technique complex. It spoke of experience comparable to her own. Arsinoë filed the discovery away in her mind – another piece of the puzzle that he was, to be examined later. She still won though, the _tribunus_ conceding the game with not a lot of grace.

She smiled as she held out her hand for the scroll. "Don't worry. The offer still stands."

He made no reply as she opened the scroll. He had been telling the truth – the message was from her agent within Cleopatra's court, and contained an update from Alexandria. It seemed that shortly after their departure, a protest had begun against the heavy Roman military presence. That same military had been used to ruthlessly suppress it. Arsinoë frowned.

"You do not seem pleased," the tribunus noted.

"Should I be pleased that my people are being slaughtered by those pretending to bring order and justice?" she demanded. "Should I be _pleased_ that my sister ignores the rational fears of Egyptians so long as Rome keeps her on the throne?"

"Then there is the vacuum of religious power left by Djau's murder," he pointed out. "People look to their gods for guidance and comfort if they cannot find it from their rulers. Unfortunate you felt it necessary to dispose of him."

"Get out!" she snapped. The smug bastard actually had the gall to smirk at her as he left. It made her wish, despite the futility of the action, that she had something to stab him with. "Son of a jackal!"

"He only said that because you beat him," Sabra said, attempting to comfort her.

"Sore loser or not he is not wrong," Arsinoë sighed. "If Djau had been there then those who wish to stand against Cleopatra would have someone else to turn to."

"But not someone loyal to you," Meysene said. "Djau proved that he would betray you if enough pressure was applied."

"And if all I care about is loyalty to me," Arsinoë said, "how am I any better than my sister?"

The other three protested loudly and emphatically. "My queen, _you_ care about Egypt! _You_ would not see us as a mere vassal of Rome, _you_ would remind the world of our history and our rightful place in the world!"

Arsinoë lapsed into silence. They would not allow her to be badmouthed, even by herself. But their words inflicted pain where they intended comfort. She _would_ see Egypt great again. She _would_ remind Rome of their history and prestige. She _could_ do neither. In real, practical terms, what was she? A prisoner, on her way to execution.

* * *

Lucius had decided that they would not sail the rest of the way to Rome. To travel by land was slower, to be sure, but the storm that Cleopatra had caused, if managed once, could easily be managed again. It had not killed Arsinoë, but it had killed at least fifty fishermen who had not returned to Ephesus. As such, organising horses, wagons, tents and supplies had taken an extra three days before they could leave.

It also meant that by the time they left, the number of people queuing to get a glimpse of the imprisoned queen had diminished somewhat. Fewer people meant fewer people for an assassin to use as cover. Lucius had maximised this by leaving before dawn, so that beyond a few soldiers on night patrol (and the inevitable prostitutes), there were few witnesses to their departure. It was later that day, riding in front of her, that he felt Arsinoë's eyes on his back. She carried on staring at him until the sun set. He couldn't imagine she was still smarting over his jibe about High Priest Djau – which, he had to admit, had been beneath him. But if it was that, then their sexual tension was about to become merely tension. That would be a waste.

When they had set up camp for that night, he sought her out. "What is wrong?"

She scoffed. "You are," she said. "You're wrong."

"About?"

She stood and paced away from the fire a little way. "Not _about_ anything. You are wrong in your very existence. What is it you _want_ from me, _Tribunus_ Monsafí? Truly? Because for all your blunt force, I cannot make you out! You ignore my machinations in Alexandria, until they are directly contradicted by your orders from Caesar. You agree to take me to Rome where I will be executed, but you go out of your way to keep me alive on the way. You know it is my fate to be _strangled_ to death, yet you take it as personal insult when someone tries to poison me!"

"Is that all?" he bit out.

"No," she hissed. "You and I have spent months dancing around each other. I am rapidly losing my patience, and, frankly, the days remaining to my life are slipping away quickly too. So if you ever intend to, get a move on and _fuck me_."

The unmistakable sound of a bow being drawn pierced the fog of anger and desire to reach Lucius' ears. It was followed by the whistling of an arrow and a strangled cry. "We're under attack."

Arsinoë gasped, but drew out a dagger. "How many, and where?"

Lucius took a moment. "Twenty one. Most of them from the south. Two behind us."

There was a crack of a foot on a branch. Arsinoë threw her dagger towards it, and although she did not see it hit, Lucius did; squarely into the chest of one of their assailants. Impressive. Or lucky. "Twenty now," he said.

The second had a bow, which he drew and fired at Lucius. Lucius caught the arrow in mid-air and surged forwards, stabbing the point of the arrow into the narrow gap between pauldron and helmet before the attacker had drawn another breath. He returned with the bow and a quiver of arrows. "Can you use this?"

Arsinoë nodded and took hold of the weapon, slinging the quiver around her hips. She nocked an arrow and nodded. "Go."

Nineteen mercenaries versus one vampire was hardly a fair fight, but it answered the tension which had sat coiled in Lucius' muscles. He ordered his men to protect Arsinoë and the women, and then tore into anyone in his way. Violence rose up to meet him, an old friend with whom he happily walked hand in hand. Or throat in hand. Or arm in hand. He had drawn his _gladius_ , but at least half of the killings, he did in the old fashioned way: with teeth. When there were only five of them left, they had obviously come to the conclusion that the only chance of survival they had was to attack all at once. One had a bow; Lucius grabbed one of his comrades and pulled him forward as a shield. The arrow pierced his throat and came out three inches the other side. Another came at him swinging a double-headed axe, which Lucius ducked, then caught the haft and flicked it from the mercenary's hands. He swung it down, where it cleaved the man's skull cleanly down to the spine. Blood and brain matter sprayed Lucius' face. He kicked the corpse off the axe and swung it around again, catching another one in the gut. The blow had enough force in it to send the man flying, the weapon still nestled in his intestines. Two left. The fourth man came at him with his shield up, attempting to stun him first. Lucius' raised his forearm and allowed the wood to simply splinter against his skin, grabbing the man's other wrist and twisting hard. Bone broke, blood vessels tore, and the hand simply came off. Lucius' caught it and, since it was still holding a dagger, used it to stab the man through the eye.

The sound of another bow being drawn and an arrow released caused a burst of disbelief that he could possibly have missed any of them– But the arrow did not belong to the attackers. Arsinoë had shot the final mercenary in the back. He span around, into Lucius' arms. Lucius wrenched his head to the side, fastened on to his jugular, and drained him to the dregs. Arsinoë, watching, did not flicker an eyelid.

"Is that all of them?" she asked, when he had finished.

"Yes. Is anyone hurt?"

"A few flesh wounds. Nothing serious."

Those flesh wounds were already being patched up when they returned to the others. When he saw Arsinoë walking back with Lucius, Quintus stared. "How did you– You were– Sir, I swear she was right there!"

He glanced at Arsinoë, who shrugged. "I didn't set out to escape."

It took them the rest of the night to sort through the corpses in order to find out who had sent them. They were Germanic mercenaries, that much was clear, and for once Arsinoë was of little use in deciphering the papers they had on them, as she neither spoke nor read the language. Finally, though, Gala found something she did recognise.

"My Queen! Here."

Lucius snatched the paper before she handed it to Arsinoë. It was definitely written in Egyptian, but it was nonsense. "Do you recognise the code?" he asked her.

She held out her hand for it, smirking. "Yes," she said after a moment. "It's one of Cleopatra's."

"Your sister is irritatingly persistent."

She made no reply to that obvious remark, scanning the missive. "Oh, lovely. Payment was to be made on presentation of my head in basket."

"Are heads in baskets some Egyptian custom I don't know about?" Lucius asked. His good mood had been restored by the fighting. "You seem obsessed."

She spared him a glare which quite clearly said she was thinking of putting _his_ head in a basket if he didn't let her concentrate. "Now that's interesting …"

"What?"

"Here, look." She moved closer, holding the scroll up to the firelight. After a moment, he saw another message, superimposed on top of the first one. The warmer it got from the fire, the darker and more distinct the writing. Arsinoë made a noise of annoyance when it became clear it was written in the wrong tongue. "Tcha! What does it say?"

He scanned it. "After they had killed you, they were to go to Rome and … eliminate Calpurnia." They shared a look. "Caesar cannot want that."

"I doubt Cleopatra sought his approval. You should keep it."

"It won't make as much difference as you think: now that he has recognised Cleopatra's child as legally his, her aims are mostly achieved."

"He has recognised the child as his blood – by my recollection of Roman law, that does not mean his _heir_ , correct?"

"Correct."

"Then she has achieved nothing yet."

Lucius acknowledged her point and stowed the message away safely. Soon afterwards, Arsinoë went to sleep, watched over closely by Quintus. When Lucius went to relieve him, he shook his head. "No, _tribunus._ I'd rather watch her, if it's all the same."

"Why?"

"Rumour is Queen Cleopatra's a witch. You ask me, rumour's got the wrong sister."


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Time to start thinking if you want a sequel to this, chaps and chapesses. If so, let me know, because I have to _slightly_ alter the ending. **

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

If Arsinoë had thought she understood the tribunus a little more, after seeing the pleasure he took in violence, then the next day countermanded that with yet more mystery. From being the wild, primal creature she had seen last night, he became ... _domesticated._ He ate breakfast with his men. He did not enjoy the cured meats and bread, and only drank water, as far as she could tell, to wash the taste out.

Especially after last night, she simply didn't understand it. No one could have watched him in action and thought him an ordinary man. Even skilled warriors moved with the flow of a battle, a dance of pull and push between their weapons and their opponents'. The tribunus did not use weapons, he had _become_ one, and he didn't move with the flow of anything. He directed the flow. All his opponents could do was to fail to react to this impossible creature they were suddenly confronted with. And that was leaving aside the blood-drinking.

So why, if one were a literal force of nature, would one try so hard to convince others of the opposite?

They travelled past sunset and into the moonrise, because apparently he had forgotten the limits of the humans he travelled with. It was one of his own men who reminded him, by nearly falling off his horse. In the buzz of activity of setting up camp, Arsinoë sat and watched him.

* * *

"You were staring." He had entered her tent without announcing himself. Arsinoë had removed her outer garments, and in the firelight, the outlines of her body were clear under the white linen shift which was all she had on. "All day, you were staring at me," he said frankly.

She gazed back with equal frankness. "Why do you pretend to be human? You clearly are not."

"Clearly? It seems lost on the others."

She gestured her servants away; they bowed deeply and made a show of leaving, though he had no doubt they were still within earshot. "It is not," Arsinoë said. "They merely prefer to look at everything else first."

"But not you."

"I am not ordinary. I have spent my life surrounded by the extraordinary; I am likely to die surrounded by it."

A strangely bitter taste appeared in Lucius' mouth. "The vainglorious triumph of man is common enough."

"Do you not find Rome splendid, Roman?" she teased. "Or has one such as you seen many such splendours?"

"One such as me ... you've yet to state what you believe that is. Or what makes you so certain I am _pretending_ to be less than I am."

"My brother _pretends_ to be a living god when he is no more than a child. My sister _pretends_ to be merely a charming woman when you and I are both aware she is a witch. I recognise the reining in of potential when I see it. Everything you do is blunted, slowed. Muffled. I do not understand why."

"How would you like to me behave?"

"As you did last night. Without caution."

"Without caution I could kill everyone here in moments. I would enjoy it."

Arsinoë shivered, and her heartbeat sped up. But he did not smell fear. "I know, Maahes," she murmured.

He laughed then, a deep-throated chuckle born of real amusement. Maahes? The lion headed god of punishment? The Lord of the Massacre? Wielder of the Knife? "That is fitting enough."

"So why pretend? Why not reveal yourself in a manner they cannot ignore?"

"Look at me."

She did, carefully, from sandals to golden-brown head before her black eyes finally settled on his amber ones.

"Am I not leonine enough for you, daughter of Isis?"

What would happen next was perfectly clear to both of them, but this was not to be the night she took him to her bed; one of the other officers approached Arsinoë's tent, calling for him through the canvas. " _Tribunus_? A matter requires your attention, sir."

Arsinoë smiled – slightly regretfully – and turned away. "I bid you goodnight, Maahes."

It was only later, as the rest of the camp was settling into slumber, that Lucius remembered the other epithet linked to Maahes. 'True Before Her'.

Their rapport seemed to open up again over the next few days, Arsinoë satisfied that he was, apparently, a god, and Lucius very happy to let her think that. Certainly, she let no reverence or awe enter her tone when she spoke to him, which was often. After they were two weeks from Ephesus, he broached the subject directly.

* * *

"You seem awfully relaxed, considering you think I'm a god."

She shrugged gracefully. "Whatever you are, you are not a man like others. At worst, you are a mystery. If you are a god, then it merely makes you my equal."

"Excuse me?"

She turned to look at him, her hands on her hips and her body open and confident. "Who am I?"

"Ah, of course. Daughter of Isis. I assumed that was propaganda."

"Why?" she asked, interested.

"Because it's ludicrous."

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she hid a smile. It was perhaps not an intelligent idea to goad him, but oh, she did enjoy the look on his face at this moment. "Because let me assure you, you are entirely human."

"Let me assure you, I am not," she replied smoothly. "And if you want me to explain you will have to be polite." An actual snarl emanated from Maahes, which she couldn't help but laugh at. "Evidently it will do you good."

He shook his head, a sudden smile on his face now. "I can hear my father agreeing with you from here."

"Well then."

"Very well – Queen Arsinoë, ruler of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms, daughter of Isis – I beg you to tell me _why_ you believe you are a demigoddess."

It was extremely heavy with sarcasm, but she decided it was acceptable. She smiled and sat up, clearing her throat delicately. "Over the course of our childhood, Cleopatra told me lies of every description. Anything she thought I would believe. I believed far too much of it. Later – after I'd humiliated myself, naturally, and it was no longer amusing," she added drily, "she told me she had lied."

"At what age did you stop being surprised by this?" he asked scornfully. "Sixteen? Eighteen?"

She ignored him. "The one thing she has never retracted is that she had a vision of Isis. We are both her daughters. Even after our father died and she was declared Ptolemy's co-regent, she never told me she had lied. It does her no benefit if I continue to believe it. It must be a thorn in her side, in fact, given that it grants me the same divine right to rule she has."

"So you think she is wary of Isis' retribution, should she deny your heritage."

"I can think of no other explanation."

"Or at least you do not wish to," he noted.

"Do you?"

He said nothing, or had nothing to say.

* * *

They were a month from Rome when things took an odd turn. Each day of their journey, Arsinoë, Gala, Meysene and Sabra were ready to go before their Roman escorts were. Considering they were used to living in a literal palace, they raised no objection to tent living or to their long, gruelling journey.

This morning, however, Lucius, his men and all the horses were ready. And the women's tent still stood. All four of them were in there, he had counted their heartbeats and picked out all their voices. Right now, he was focused on Arsinoë.

"In front of you, or behind your back?"

"It must be behind me," the queen said. There was a pause. "Too slack. Make it tighter. Tighter."

"My Queen-"

" _Tighter_ , or I will have you whipped."

Lucius heard the sound of the rope being pulled tighter, and finally Arsinoë's gasp of pain. Unable to identify one logical reason she could order her servants to hurt her, he went inside the tent, unannounced. Inside, the queen was dressed in her usual garb, and sitting having her sandals laced for her. Her arms were bound behind her back, tied together at the wrists. Her shoulders were in what must be an uncomfortable position.

"Explain."

"Practice."

"Practice."

"The point of the triumph is to parade me through Rome, to display me as though I am a piece of meat, a beast to be sacrificed on the altar of Caesar's glory."

"Something you were well aware of before we left Alexandria," he pointed out.

"And so it shall be," she replied, smoothly rising to her feet. "Let's go."

She started slow. She still ate and drank and chatted with her ladies. She sought shade from the sun. She did that for a week. The next week, she did not eat during the daylight hours. The next, she did not drink. When she removed the cowl protecting her head from the sun, it seemed her resilience had abandoned her – the first day, she fainted in the sun. The second, the heat made her babble in languages he'd no idea of. The third, she stopped responding to her name. Deciding it had very much gone too far, Lucius halted their convoy. Arsinoë stirred herself long enough to swear at him, and then consented to be tended to by Sabra and the others.

She was reclining on pile of soft carpets when he entered her tent, still half-dazed. Sabra, closest to her, shrank away from him. "She– She won't eat. And she won't let me bind her wrists."

"Give that to me."

Sabra gave him a strip of white linen whilst being careful not to touch his skin as she did so. Arsinoë gave a jolt back to awareness when his hand took hers. "You're cold," she murmured.

He said nothing.

"Stop," she said when he began to treat her wound. There was a thin line where her skin had been rubbed and broken by the ropes. There was no real command in her tone though.

"Why are you doing this? It is stupid."

"It is necessary," she corrected.

"Why? So you can prove once more you feel nothing?" The words came out in a rush, heat behind them he'd not known was there. "Anyone who spent half a day with you would know that. You are touched by nothing."

"You're touching me."

Unexpectedly disarmed, Lucius chose instead to finish wrapping her wrists, then poured out some water for her. She took it and sat up, drinking slowly. After a moment he sat beside her.

"You're wrong, to think I feel nothing," she confessed. "I merely learned a long time ago to keep others at a distance, and to treat them as tools."

"Then how are you different from Cleopatra?" he asked bitterly.

"Perhaps I'm not. I certainly learned my most valuable lesson from her."

"Which is?" he demanded.

"That there is nothing I can possess which she cannot take away."

"Nothing?"

"No one. Better not to hold anyone close, if they're to be torn from me later."

He looked at her, the expression on his face both sad and surprised, as though the more tender emotion didn't know how it had ended up there. "But now you will be the one torn away."

He left immediately without giving her a chance to speak again. For the next few days she did not deny herself food or drink, or shade. But she denied herself speech, or smiles. Lucius found he still listened for her words. Still watched for her grin. He could have borne it, if there had still been the glances. The mischief, the laughter, the sarcasm and the arrogance that should have meant nothing but somehow, at some point undefined, meant almost everything. He found her entirely infuriating, and maddening, and intoxicating.


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N: Ok, so a _little_ license taken with canon here. In TBOL, Baldwin is unaware of Ysabeau's being a carrier of blood rage. I've tried to tread a fine line here, in that he is unaware, but both he and Hugh were around when Ysabeau was still a prisoner of her sire. It's still possible that they weren't actually privy to the blood rage - if, as Ysabeau says, there was no one left alive to talk about it when they got there. **

**Philippe knew how to keep secrets, as we all know. So, bear with me.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

There was a definite difference between the palace of Alexandria and the quarters provided for Arsinoë here in Rome. For one, she and her ladies, save Sabra, were immediately separated. The others were to be sold as slaves.

"They're resourceful," Lucius said, failing to spot that none of the women seemed in the least bit alarmed. Comfort or kindness did not come easily to him.

Arsinoë gave him a smile and touched his elbow reassuringly. "No need to fret, Maahes. I've agents in the city waiting to buy them. They will see to it that Meysene and Gala come to no harm."

"How could you possibly have –" He shook his head and bent it close to hers. "You should have been named Arachne."

She grinned briefly, apparently familiar with the story.

All levity was gone by the time it came to their parting. Arsinoë would not be kept with other prisoners, and compared with those whose destiny it was to be lion-food, her life would be comparatively luxurious. She would be fed, she would be allowed to keep clean, and she would be given a pair of slaves to tend to her; she would not be free to come and go. She was never to be released from her cell, even to worship. She might be preyed on by those meant to guard her and have no recourse or redress. All these things ran through Lucius' mind as he observed the three bare rooms which were to be the boundaries of Arsinoë's life, but it was the last which caused the most consternation. It was his nature to be possessive and protective to the extreme, and the thought of her here, vulnerable, while he would be forced to return to Alexandria was unbearable. Quite how unbearable became clear when the warder opened the door and shoved her in.

Without being aware of having moved, Lucius had his hand around the warder's throat, pinning him against the wall. Arsinoë was instantly in front of him again, close enough to feel the snarl reverberating through his chest.

"Maahes, stop. It won't help. Stop. Stop." She kept repeating it, the calm repetition doing more to rein in his instincts than all the weapons currently trained on him. Eventually he let go, and the warder (though somewhat purple in the face and now crumpled on the floor) was left alive.

None of the others seemed to know what to do – they were obviously rightfully fearful of Lucius, but equally, he had just attacked faster than could be natural, and suspended a man in the air for nearly a minute without it taking any effort at all. Lucius took advantage of the indecision to pull Arsinoë closer.

"You have to go," she said, breathlessly. She was breathless because his grip was tighter than could possibly be comfortable. He could hear her ribs creaking.

"They'll prey on you," he said.

"They will try," she responded. He knew what she meant. If they attempted to use her, it would be in trade.

"No," he pressed, "you are not a tool. Your body is not a tool to ensure your survival. Promise me."

"Wait for you?"

"Wait for me."

He had no right to extract such a promise, and, knowing Arsinoë would tell him exactly that, pressed his forehead to hers and stormed out of the prison at a ferocious speed.

* * *

When Maahes was gone, Arsinoë walked willingly into her cell, biting her lip hard to prevent the sobs erupting. The gods were playing a sick joke. Now? _Now_ , of all times, she had to find him? For twenty two years, she had watched, and waited, for her equal to arrive, for someone her sister _could not_ take – and now?

The cell door clanged shut behind her, making Sabra flinch. Realising how frightened she must be, Arsinoë turned to look after her servant, and found that those Romans not helping the warder to his feet were staring at her in mingled fascination and fear. It was written quite plainly on their faces, the question: what magic do these Egyptian Queens possess, to turn our men to madness?

Arsinoë decided that she could allot herself precisely one night to completely fall apart and acknowledge just how much she had lost. Accordingly, when she and Sabra were alone, she startled the other woman completely, and wept. Her tears flowed freely and tasted bitter.

* * *

Caesar stayed in Alexandria only for as long as his son – sickeningly named 'Caesarion' was in the dangerous stage of infancy. Once the child had begun to crawl, the general could no longer justify his absence from Rome. Not least because the Senate demanded his return.

It was a bittersweet day for Lucius. On the other hand, it got him away from Cleopatra's smugness and Caesar's banal adoration of the child. Caesar allowed the boy to play and sleep and scream and shit anywhere he liked, and Lucius was about a week away from throwing him into the sea. The Egyptian campaign had all but collapsed under Ptolemy and there was no other feature of interest in Egypt. The return to Rome was a cause for dread, too, since it drew the triumph, and Arsinoë's execution, all the closer.

They sailed as far as they were able to, so unlike his journey with Arsinoë, it was at least not slow and laborious. Lucius was the first high-ranking officer to land in Rome, which worked out well for him as there was no one to stop him going to Arsinoë's prison. It was past midnight when he arrived, but unlike the first time he had been here, there was no need for violence. His purse was heavy with Egyptian gold, more than enough to bribe the guards to look the other way. Throughout his trip through Rome, he asked himself what was possessing him. Why did he need to see her? Where did said need come from? She was to be executed in a matter of weeks, what could it _possibly_ matter if she was being mistreated now?

Sabra was asleep, when he arrived, on a bed of woollen blankets. A similar bed was in another corner of the room, unslept in. Two slaves slept on the floor. None of them looked in poor health. There was an oil lamp burning in another room, and Arsinoë's scent. He moved silently to stand in the doorway. She was on her knees before a small shrine, tiny soapstone figures of her gods standing in front of the oil lamp. The flickering light made their shadows loom, huge on the walls. Finishing her prayers, Arsinoë picked up the statuette of Isis and kissed it.

Then she stood, turned and jumped out of her skin to see his bulky silhouette in the doorway. He chuckled. "So you can be surprised then. That is good to know."

"Why are you here?"

Her voice was rasping. And under the shadow of her hair, he could see bruising around her neck. Someone had attacked her.

"I ordered it," she said, quickly putting a hand to the line around her throat.

" _What_?"

"Practice."

He was beginning to absolutely loathe that word. But, since the only person in front of him was the one human he'd absolutely no desire to harm, laughing had to take the place of violence. "Are you mad?"

"Maahes –"

"No. No, Arsinoë, no! Is it not enough that they are going to kill you at the end of the triumph? You must give them the opportunity to _rehearse_ as well?"

"If you've come here to tell me I'm a fool then you may leave!" she snapped.

"You are a fool!"

"What do they look like, the people you kill? I do not mean the ones you kill in battle – those who know their death is upon them, the ones who look at you and feel nothing but terror – what do _they_ look like?"

Lucius wasn't fooled by her sudden change of subject. "Arsinoë."

"Do they have the dignity of people, at the end? When they are _pissing themselves_ through fear, are they anything but beasts to you?" She stepped closer, her anger making her incandescent in the darkness. Her eyes burned. "You can't save me, Maahes. You can't do anything to help me. But I can help myself."

"By deliberately harming yourself?"

"By preparation. There is nothing else to do. I refuse to be one of those beasts. They panic, and they bleat, and they plead for mercy that will never be forthcoming. So during the day, I prepare my body, and at night, I prepare my soul."

"Are you even afraid?"

"I don't know," she said. Then there was a pause. "No."

Silence fell, in which Lucius found he was. He took a step back. "Caesar will be in Rome by the morning. He has been planning the triumph. Craftsmen in the city are already working on a scale model of the Pharo lighthouse. I … believe the schedule is to execute you before the steps of the Senate."

"Well. At least I will be the highlight of the event."

"You will continue in this, won't you?" he asked heavily.

She looked at him, her expression sorrowful. "I have to."

Once more left without words, Lucius turned and left the prison. He went straight to his family's villa north of the city. He was lucky, or unlucky: all of them were there, Philipus, Elena and Justus.

Servants brought him wine and blood, and he found he didn't want either. It was enough, instantly, for Philipus to know there was a problem. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Philipus let that pass, for which Lucius was grateful. It was only a temporary reprieve, because of course it was. He'd never known his father to let anything go. He made an effort to drink something and to make a decent job of his report.

Philipus nodded after he was finished and then asked, in a tone as smooth as butter, "Has Justus shown you the new sword he purchased?"

"No …"

"Come. I think you will approve."

Philipus led his two sons out into the weapons yard and armed both of them. Justus _did_ have a new sword, which Lucius liked the look of. They set to fighting. When legionnaires did this, it was with blunted weapons. Strictly non-lethal. First blood drawn stopped the fight immediately. The fatal stuff was reserved strictly for the amphitheatres and the respective gladiators. But they weren't legionnaires. Leaving aside the fact that Lucius technically had a rank in the army, vampires did nothing without lethal intent. So the sparring match did not begin friendly, much less stay that way. The scents of wood smoke, lilacs, olive oil and horse were soon joined by vampire blood. Justus might be absent-minded and muddled with poetry half the time, but with a weapon in his hands he was as mighty a warrior as Lucius.

Both of them were bleeding, Justus from a stab wound to his left shoulder, and Lucius from a similar one to his right. The injuries had been inflicted at the same time, with identical moves. Philipus, watching, had found it particularly amusing. He waited until Lucius' whole focus was on the match before he spoke.

"How long will the triumph take to organise?"

"How should –" he ducked and rolled to avoid decapitation, then delivered Justus a cut across his upper back as he rose, "– I know?"

"I think you know to the second. How long?"

Lucius grunted in pain as Justus slammed his shield into his face, breaking his cheekbone and nose. He spat onto the ground. "Five weeks. Maybe four."

"And why do you want to stop it?"

Lucius stopped and stared. Justus didn't. There was a gladius through Lucius' thigh the next time he looked. He wrenched it out and threw it at his brother, before answering his father's question. "For one, she is royalty–"

"Triumphs have been tradition in Rome for centuries, you know that."

"You have participated in more than your fair share, no?" Justus asked raggedly.

That was true. Vercingetorix had gone to his death a broken shell of a man, and Lucius had relished in the sight. If he pictured Arsinoë in the Gallic chieftain's place–

Justus' leg swept his out from under his, and only by rolling to the side did Lucius avoid getting an axe through his face. At the side of the ring, Philipus paced, unconcerned. "The fact she is royalty is no obstacle. She shed Roman blood."

He tried again, both with the sword and words. It didn't go well, not least because Philipus joined Justus' side and he soon found two swords either side of his neck. "She is too young to–"

"Old enough to lead armies. This is the first time I have ever seen you squeamish." The blade dug in a little, and Lucius felt blood welling up around it. Philipus' demand was a simple one. "The truth."

Lucius met his father's eyes. "I am not squeamish. I simply don't want her to die."

"Humans die. It's what they do."

"Not her, and not yet."

There was a long moment of silence, in which Lucius felt he may as well name all the unfamiliar fears which Arsinoë stirred in him, since Philipus obviously knew they all anyway. Finally, his father threw down the sword and turned away with a nod. "I will do what I can. It may not be enough. Prepare yourself for that."

Later, his brother found him staring angrily at the night sky. "There's no shame in it, you know."

He said nothing.

"You're hardly the first to fall in love. Look at Philipus."

"Elena was a vampire before they ever met. Arsinoë is a human whom I barely know."

"In my experience that's never been an obstacle to being in love. She's obviously captivated you. Why is that a bad thing?"

"Because of _who_ she is! She will always be a threat to someone powerful, and therefore will always been in danger. Philipus has agreed to pressure the Senate now, as a favour to me – how long do you think that will hold against all the calls for her death that are yet to come?"

"So, you know what to do then."

"Don't laugh at me," he warned.

"I am not!" his brother protested, though there was indeed a smile on his face. "But I must admit, I knew you _liked_ women. I was beginning to think you weren't capable of respecting one. I'm pleased for you."

"You're pleased for me, or you're pleased for your enjoyment of my humiliation?"

His brother sighed. "Lucius, I am trying to help."

"I do not require your help. And I am not in love with her, falling in love with her or anything of the kind."

"If you say so."

"Haven't you got a legionnaire on the go somewhere?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"No?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. He's an olive oil merchant, as it happens."

"How convenient."

"It is proving to be, yes."

"I won't keep you from him."

Justus offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder and did leave. For another ten minutes, it was just Lucius and the stars. Then his father's mate arrived in the garden. "He won't do that again, you know," came her soft voice.

Lucius turned to face Elena. "I know."

"You might fob him off once, but your father will want the truth eventually."

It was rare that he and Elena saw eye to eye, and rarer still that he asked for or invited her advice. But she had one crucial advantage over him, Philipus or Justus: she was a woman. Therefore, she might have the tiniest inkling of what was going on in Arsinoë's head, and therefore his own, and therefore, he would be honest.

"That would be fine if I knew what the truth was. It's ludicrous, I haven't even bedded her."

Elena's eyebrows rose. Evidently she could not remember the last time such a thing had happened any better than he could. "Have there been no opportunities?"

"In Alexandria, there were many, but I didn't know what she was then." He opted not to mention their shared not-quite encounter. "Clearly, I spent too long trying to discern her nature."

"Or not long enough."

"We weren't given long enough."

"And what does she know of your true nature?" she asked, sitting on a bench.

"Everything," he said simply. "Perhaps not the exact years of my age, but essentially, everything. I think she knew everything after our first conversation," he added, shaking his head but smiling.

"And she is not frightened."

"Quite the opposite." He exhaled. "I cannot explain it. There is simply a … a …" he cut off with a growl of frustration as words failed.

Elena had them instead. "A clarity," she said.

He stared at her. That was precisely how he felt – clear as glass. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

She sighed impatiently. "Of course it _must_ be an evil. The idea of another being knowing one intimately cannot be anything but a weakness!" She took a deep breath and attempted to recall her patience. "Lucius, for all the secrets this family has, it is not necessary to _embody_ them. Take it from someone to knows exactly what it is to be intimately vulnerable – having someone who sees everything about you, who entrusts you with the same gift, _that_ is being safe. And safety is strength."

Her piece done, Elena rose and went back inside the villa. He looked at the space she had occupied for a long time. He remembered the day they had freed her. It was mostly a blur of violence and exhilaration and pride that he and Justus were doing something that meant so much to their father. But he also remembered the haunted, raw look in Elena's eyes. Not that she was Elena then. Just a tiny, stick-thin, ragged creature with no dignity and nothing but a spark to show she was even living. It had still been enough for Philipus to fall irreversibly in love. Everything in his life had, from that moment on, been about making Elena safe, and, when safe, cherished. Lucius thought it probably always would be.

* * *

 **A/N: Review please!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Ok, so this one is short. But the next one will more than make up for it, _trust_ me ;) **

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

It would have been impossible not to know that the triumph was coming. Rome's noise, smells, population, sense of heightened excitement, had been increasing at a steady rate. About four days ago, things had reached fever-pitch. Arsinoë had also had confirmation from her agents that things were almost ready. Farriers throughout the city had been working night and day to make sure all that Caesar's horses were newly shod. A week ago, the boatloads of Egyptian performers had arrived in the harbour and begun attracting crowds to their rehearsals. They had also brought with them a welcome influx of gold into the coffers of those Romans who ran the bath houses - and the brothels. The wicker model of the Lighthouse of Pharos, twenty feet high, was complete. The best silversmiths had been commissioned to make scale models of Egyptian archers and fire-hurlers which would sit inside. Presumably to melt in the fire which would cap off the event. Apparently they would all be paraded through the streets to the Senate, at which point the Lighthouse would be set alight – and then she would be strangled.

She had not repeated the experiment to see if she could withstand what her death would be with her dignity intact. Not if she wanted Maahes to keep _his_ dignity intact. Or the rest of Rome keep their heads.

Arsinoë had woken before dawn, before Sabra, and had chosen to spend the time in prayer. There were only two gods she really focused on. The first was her ancestor. "Mighty mother, daughter of the Nile, I rejoice as you join me with the rays of the sun. Sacred sister, mother of magic, I honour you, Lover of Osiris, she is who mother of the universe itself." She picked up the statue of Isis and kissed it. "Isis, who was and is and shall ever be daughter of the earth and sky. I honour you and sing your praises. Glorious goddess of magic and light, I open my heart to your mysteries."

The next prayer was harder. Over the course of her life, she had made many prayers and offerings to the chief and king of the gods. She had asked him to watch over her soul should it ever wander. Well, her soul would be wandering today. It would be crossing over into the afterlife, to be weighed against Anubis' feather of truth. Today, if she ever wanted to see the rest of eternity, she was entirely in Osiris' hands.

The hymn to Osiris was long, and took her an hour to recite in its entirety. She did not pause or take anything to drink, and when she finished, she had a fierce thirst and her legs were numb. But she felt calm and centred. She had done all she could to prepare her soul and her body for this. All that remained now was the last, ultimate test. Sabra helped her to dress and combed out her hair so that it lay loose around her shoulders. She chose to leave her feet bare.

When she was led out to the stables, where her chariot waited, Maahes was waiting too. He was seated on a grey stallion, holding it rigidly in check, so still that both of them, horse and rider, might be statues. She met his eyes calmly and climbed up onto the chariot. A soldier came to tie her to the post at the back of the chariot, her hands behind her back. It was with a chain, rather than a rope, and was cold against her skin. She forced herself not to shift against the constriction, reaching for the stillness she knew she could achieve. Once again, she recalled to mind the bleating terror of a sacrificial lamb. She would not be that creature. She refused.

* * *

Arsinoë looked pale to Lucius' eyes, but the line of her mouth was set and determined. He saw that the bruising around her neck had gone. Had she done that for him? She was dressed simply in white, with her down and shining like a raven's wing in the sunlight. He stopped thinking about ravens before he could remember they were carrion birds.

"I am happy to see you, Maahes," she said.

He could not return the sentiment, as he had never been less happy to see her. Unlike her tone, his voice required some steadying. "Is there anything you need? Once … once we get underway, there will not be–"

"Nothing."

They were silent for a moment while horses were tethered to Arsinoë's chariot. "Who will it be?" she asked quietly. "I assume Caesar will not carry about the deed himself."

Her eyes were on the golden chain that was artfully draped over the rail of the chariot she would be pulled on. Lucius felt a surge of anger, as much for the calm acceptance in her voice as for the looming prospect that he would be a witness to her death.

"With the gods' grace, it won't be anyone. My father will intercede."

"Your father?"

"My family has … influence."

"Your family?"

He took her face in his hands. "Live through this, and I will tell you everything."

She locked their gazes. "I will hold you to that, Maahes."

There seemed nothing else to say, or at least nothing that would come. He dismounted and stood to attention, then saluted, and bowed. "Queen Arsinoë. It has been an honour."

She looked pleased and faintly amused. "Farewell."

Rome was ready for a spectacle, and a spectacle was what they got. Caesar's legions marched first, armour and weapons sparkling. Then came acrobats and dancers from Egypt. Then treasures and gifts from Queen Cleopatra. Then Caesar himself, dressed in purple with a crown of laurel leaves on his head. At the end of the procession, ready for when the crowd had whipped themselves up into a frenzy, came the effigy of the Pharos Lighthouse, and Arsinoë.

Throughout all of it, every mad, tumultuous second of the jeering and shouting, of the raging and fury, Arsinoë was still and silent. She looked straight ahead. Did not weep, did not cry out. He did not see her blink. Lucius had seen triumphs before. He had seen Gallic chieftains, Carthaginian warriors and Germanic tribesmen brought to Rome, and brought to heel. They had all broken. Now this. Something Rome had never seen before: a flesh and blood woman carved from stone. As the chariot pulling her passed, the people fell silent. All of Rome, struck dumb by one woman's dignity. A part of Lucius had expected it; after all, he had been witness to the rehearsals of this grisly spectacle. Yet even he was unable to stem the tide of admiration he felt. She unbalanced them. If she'd been presented to them like the rest, a glittering Egyptian prize, jewelled and haughty, polished until she was barely human, Rome would have viewed her with contempt. Likewise, if she'd had her hair shorn, been weeping or wailing, meek or repentant, the crowd would have known to act like conquerors. Arsinoë presented them with neither, and with both.

It was an extraordinary feat. She said nothing, but stated clearly: _This is not me. You will not have me. You may do whatever you wish with this body. You will not touch me._

Anyone who did not know the pains she had taken to make it look effortless could think she was exactly what she claimed: a demi-goddess, and thus, above mortal concerns and pettiness. It was possible that only Lucius, close to smell the blood weeping from her wrists, chafed raw, close enough to hear her hitched breathing, close enough to see the unwilling tremble of her muscles, saw much it really cost her. He kept his hands clenched tightly around the horse's reins, simply to keep from tearing her free. What he might do when she _was_ free, he hadn't dared to think about.

The amassed ranks of the senators stood grim-faced. Some of them had held their own triumphs in the past, but none looked happy about Caesar's.

At the steps, Caesar turned and held his arms up as if everyone were cheering, instead of mute and still. "Romans! Friends! You have heard of our mission to resolve the destructive civil war in Egypt. You have heard of the bloody campaign waged against our forces. Now I bring before you the instigator of that campaign – the so-called Queen Arsinoë!"

Still more silence, which deepened further into a kind of vague, grim threat. Arsinoë was a tiny, feminine figure, though straight-backed and impassive. She could not have looked less capable of violence.

"However," Caesar continued, "since she is of royal blood, and did willingly surrender to the might of Rome, I am merciful this day."

Lucius tightened his jaw. That might simply mean a death quicker than the traditional strangulation.

"I have decided to _spare-_ "

Rome erupted, and the rest of Caesar's words were lost.

Without waiting for permission or orders, or with a care for anyone who might be startled at how quickly he moved, Lucius was off his horse and at Arsinoë's side. The chains which held her snapped with one tug at the metal links. He knew she would try to stand, so was ready when her legs failed her.

She tried an admonishment even so. "Don't-"

"It will help if you look vulnerable here."

She made no further protest when she was lifted into his arms. In fact her head rested against his shoulder, her last whispered prayer of thanks a mere exhale, carrying his name. "Maahes."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Arsinoë woke in a bed, in a room she did not recognise. Seated in a nearby chair was Sabra, who smiled to see her awake. "My Queen!"

"Water," Arsinoë croaked.

She was brought it, and gulped greedily. In a few minutes, the pounding of her head began to subside. "Where are we?"

"A villa in the city. They don't tell me who owns it."

"Caesar?"

"Perhaps, my Queen. We have heard nothing from him if that is so."

"Maahes?"

Sabra shivered in apparently instinctual fear. "I've seen nothing of him since he brought you here."

Arsinoë nodded, glancing down at her wrists. They were now carefully wrapped in linen bandages. She could feel that some kind of numbing balm had been applied. If she had been sentenced to death as she was meant to, her whole body would now be wrapped in cloth like this. Equally numb.

It was a strange feeling, having prepared herself so well for death, to find she was still alive. She was in no doubt that she owed her life to Maahes' – or rather, his family's – intervention. Whoever, and whatever, they might be. She was absolutely certain they would not be a family in the conventional sense, though he had mentioned a father on more than one occasion. Her curiosity regarding that could wait, however: Maahes had promised to tell her everything, and she believed him.

One question could not wait, however. What now?

Caesar had spared her life publicly, but that was no guarantee of future clemency. When news reached her, Cleopatra would be furious. Arsinoë obviously could not return to Alexandria, which left only two options: life in a Roman prison, or exile. Though to where?

"My Queen?" Sabra's voice broke in to her thoughts, hesitant but enquiring. Arsinoë had been staring out of the window for some time now.

"How did _you_ get here, Sabra?" Arsinoë asked her.

"I was brought here just after the triumph began, and when Maahes brought you here, he charged me to watch over you."

"Thank you," Arsinoë said, making an effort to smile. Sabra looked so worried.

"I've had word from Gala and Meysene. All went as planned for them; they are free."

"Good."

"They also ask if you intend to escape Rome."

"Even if I did, they're under no obligation to come with me. Neither are you, for that matter. I release you from my service, Sabra."

Sabra licked dry lips. "If that is true, then …" She left her chair and knelt at Arsinoë's feet. "Allow me to pledge my fealty and honour to you as a free person, Queen Arsinoë. I promise to serve you faithfully, with my whole life, until Horus takes me from this world."

Arsinoë took her hands and pulled her to her feet, embracing her like a sister. "I gladly accept your loyalty, Sabra. Thank you."

"I also saved your figures of the gods, my lady. Here."

The worn soapstone figures felt warm in her hands, as if waking up to the recognition of her touch. She brought Isis to her mouth and whispered a prayer of thanks. Shortly afterwards, she made Sabra go and get some rest around the time the sun set, so she was alone for the first time in months. She could not savour it, however – she was too eager, too impatient for Maahes. It would be difficult to say which she wanted more: his words or his touch. She thought about how the hard planes of his body had felt, when she was cradled against him.

She wanted his touch. She had gone so long without it, and now that there was nothing in the way–

The flame of the oil lamp flickered, just a little, flaring for a moment before continuing to burn strongly once more. It was enough to tell her the warm shiver up her spine was justified, and she smiled. She did not let any trace of the smile into her voice though, making her tone imperious when she spoke to the previously-empty room. "It is customary to _wait_ for an invitation, before coming to a queen's bed."

"Have I not already been invited here once?"

She turned to see Maahes was stretched out on the bed looking entirely at ease, every naked, golden inch of him somehow glowing in the dim light. It took a strength of will not to swallow hard at the sight as Arsinoë felt desire instantly dry her mouth. How was it, with all of Rome to choose from, this creature came to her?

"You have," she acknowledged, somehow managing to iron out the tremble in her voice. "Yet that was once. I do not remember arranging another such encounter. Perhaps I merely needed the distraction." Her feet were taking her closer to the bed as she spoke, though, and she saw his nostrils widen, his eyes dilate, as preternatural senses caught the scent of her arousal. She probably needn't bother speaking at all; her body was shouting the truth at him.

When he reached out a hand, she put hers into it without hesitation, the slender digits all but disappearing into his palm. "And do you not still require a distraction?"

Arsinoë moved onto the bed, hitching her shift high enough up so that she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips. Leisurely, his hands slid up underneath the linen to rest on her hips, the touch more than light but anchoring her all the same. She let her own hands rove slowly over his chest, trailing her fingernails through the sparse hair.

"Do you offer yourself as such, Maahes?"

"I am at your command."

She laughed softly. "Then undress me."

He sat up and began doing so with a slowness that meant she felt every touch as e along tortured skin. Arsinoë closed her eyes and sat perfectly still, her eyes closed and her very heart threatening to pound from her chest. His mouth touched at her pulse point first, the tip of his tongue flicking out as if to taste her – she knew, suddenly, with a thrill of what might have been fear, that was exactly what he was doing – before he moved down her neck and along each collarbone. At each shoulder, he undid the brooch holding her shift in place with nimble movements, and soon her torso was bared. He took hold of the shift and tossed it from her body, across the room. Then his palms were flat against her back, pulling her body in to his and scanning her face. She closed the distance and kissed him, twining her arms around his neck as she did. He tasted of pepper and metal. That heat spread further through her as his hands slid down her back and around, drawing small circles on her hips. Impatiently, she rocked forwards, feeling herself aching to be filled by him.

He smiled against her mouth. "Patience."

"Just what a god would say," she returned, catching his lips between her teeth briefly. "I have not the lifetime for patience, Maahes."

He eked it out anyway, drawing desire from her until she felt it straining like a wild horse under a tight rein. She was determined she could not beg, but the instinctual moans and whimpers echoing from her throat were as good as a plea. As was the way her body moved under his slow, calloused hands, a puppet on a string. It was at the moment when he guided her own hand to move over her breast that the queen's restraint snapped. She pushed him back onto the bed; he fell willingly, apparently because he'd misunderstood.

"This much I could do for myself," she said, "and I have servants more than willing to take your place, Roman."

"Then call one of them, though they are not worthy of you."

"You've yet to prove _you_ are," she returned.

He reached for her arm, pressing his mouth to her fingertips briefly before nipping at the inside of her wrist with sharp teeth. Arsinoë watched him without softening. "I give of myself, Maahes. I expect nothing less in return."

The oil lamp flared, lighting his face starkly, and she saw his desire too, his pupils blown wide and drinking in the sight of her. He wanted her as badly as she did him. She put a hand down between their bodies and caressed him, feeling him pulse and twitch under her hand, steel-hard and more than ready for her. With his hands on her hips – steadying both of them – she sank slowly onto him. They had a moment of stillness, staring at each other, bodies joined, before Arsinoë rocked her pelvis. Her lover rose slightly and gently held her hips as she threw her head back, the pleasure unfurling from the base of her spine, ready to spear outwards to the rest of her. He fit perfectly inside her, body moving in tandem with hers. His hands on either side of her waist held her with the lightest of touches, it felt like merely to weigh her down lest she float skyward. His mouth travelled skilfully over her throat and chest, driving her pleasure onwards. Her first climax came easily, the initial release waiting for its chance. The second, third- Arsinoë lost awareness of everything but the man under, over, beside her. It was drawing close to dawn before he allowed her to draw the same climax from him, the primal sounds he made the first real opportunity for her to see him lose his tightly-held control.

Her chest heaving, Arsinoë collapsed onto the bed, dimly aware of her lover doing the same beside her. She allowed sleep to claim her almost immediately, not needing to open her eyes to see the expression of smug satisfaction on his face. Her last thought, before unconsciousness rose up, was that he definitely had earned it.

Maahes was gone when Arsinoë woke, with the full morning sun shining in her face. She stretched languidly, feeling a warm ache in most of her muscles. It would be a while before she could do that again, she thought with a smile. She doubted she could say the same of her now-lover.

It was deliciously tempting to lean back into the pillows and close her eyes again, but equally, she was very hungry.

Footsteps sounded, and Maahes appeared with a tray of food. "I heard you waking."

"How long have I slept?"

"It's almost noon. I expected you to sleep longer. Humans rarely have your stamina."

"Is that a compliment?"

He flashed a white grin and handed her a plate of bread, fruit and olive oil. He poured out red wine for both of them while she ate, unashamedly allowing her eyes to rove over his form. He was less otherworldly, but still utterly magnificent in the daylight, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience just looking at him. When she, eventually, found his eyes again, he was also drinking in the sight of her.

"I suppose visiting the baths would be out of the question? I certainly need to get clean," she commented.

"Visiting the public baths would, yes. Happily, we have our own," he said.

She followed him through the villa, which seemed almost as labyrinthine as the palace she'd grown up in, and as exquisitely decorated. Nothing was overdone, but there was a definite feminine touch. She looked at Maahes. "Who lives here?" she asked.

"I do."

"Who else, then?"

He smirked at her. "There's no other woman, I promise you."

Arsinoë tried and failed to hide her flush. But still – she saw no reason why he should be the only possessive one. "Good."

The baths were in a separate building on the same site as the main villa, the tiles warm underfoot from the hypocaust beneath. She removed her robe and stepped gratefully into the _tepidarium_. The pool was deep enough so that the water came up to her shoulders, and comfortably warm. She dipped her head under the water and ran her fingers several times through her hair. She surfaced with a satisfied smile. The water level was significantly lower on Maahes, given his height and bulk. The pool was large, so they swam for a while, Arsinoë feeling the aches in her muscles be slowly stretched out. When she had finished, she kicked back to float on her back, gazing up at the heavily mosaicked ceiling. It depicted a love scene: Venus and Mars, though not in any incarnation she had seen them before. Venus had long, honey blonde hair and green eyes alight with mischief. Mars, more leonine even than Maahes, gazed at his lover adoringly, but the artist had managed to avoid them looking anything less than strong and fiercely, defiantly devoted to each other. It was fine work.

She pushed downward again, settling her feet against the floor of the pool and her eyes on her lover. When he moved towards her, she leaned against the edge of the pool and put her leg out to stop him, resting it against his abdomen.

"Everything," she said simply.

"Yes, I did promise you that, didn't I?"

She nodded. "Begin with you, and your family. Are they all like you?"

"Yes. My father and his mate, and my brother. We are small, as vampire families go."

"Vampire?" she asked.

"What I am. Flattering as the comparison is, we are not gods."

"No? You are not as I am, either."

"True." He took a deep breath, and looked as though he were debating where to start. "Come."

She followed him as he exited the pool and headed into the next room (from a reasonable distance, where she could fully appreciate his backside). The _caldarium_ was significantly hotter, the fires of the hypocaust burning fiercely underneath the tiles. Arsinoë felt sweat begin to prickle across her forehead, which was of course the point. Normally, there would be servants of slaves waiting to oil them, but instead Maahes gestured for her to lie on a cushioned table, face down. Surprised that he intended to cleanse her himself, she did as she was bid.

"Is there no end to your talents, Maahes?" she teased.

He poured oil into his palm and smoothed it over her skin. "Hush, and listen."

So listen she did. She listened as he talked about the hunger for blood that always resided in him; the strength he possessed; the speed; the longevity; how long he had been this way; how he came to be this way. It was difficult to concentrate on all of it, interested as she was. The juxtaposition of his rough, calloused hands and the silken oil against her skin, kneading her muscles, felt divine.

She was perilously close to making the kinds of noises she had last night, under his ministrative hands. When he had massaged the oil over the back of her body, he turned her over and oiled the front. Arsinoë watched him with half-lidded eyes, still fixated on his words.

When she was fully oiled, he pulled her from the table and onto a couch, seating her between his legs and against his broad chest. Arsinoë relaxed against him as he picked up a strigil, putting her head against his shoulder. He ran the strigil along her limbs, taking with it the oil and any dirt that there was. Reclined against him while he tended to her body, totally protected from anything that might want to harm her, she was able to give him her whole focus. She found it an intensely erotic experience.

When the movements of his hands were finished, so were his words. Finished, he looked at Arsinoë. She was still leaning against him, one leg stretched out in front of her. "So …" She lifted a hand and began counting on her fingers. "You feed from the life essence of mortals. You possess the strength of twenty men. You are faster than any cheetah. You are incredibly, almost impossibly hard to kill, and, if not killed, you live forever."

He nodded.

She laughed. "Oh, Maahes. If all that is true, in what way are you _not_ a god?"

He considered. "Well, when you put it like that ..."

He drew her into the gaspingly hot water. "Do I take it, then, that you intend to continue to call me 'Maahes'?"

"Unless you have some objection."

"No."

"More like approval, I see," she laughed.

Against her inner thigh, his cock twitched in agreement. He kissed her hard, fisting his hand in her wet hair and tilting her head, angling his mouth where he wanted it. Unused to ceding control, Arsinoë discovered quickly how thrilling she found it. He was so contained, so careful, that seeing him lower even a little of his control was like seeing a pet tiger suddenly lunge, and being reminded how wild it was. She pictured him taking her as wild creatures took their mates, the image making her moan with want. To gain better leverage, Maahes backed her against the wall of the pool and sheathed himself within her. Arsinoë's cry echoed from the mosaicked walls.

From fast, Maahes moved to slow, with deep movements of his hips which left her alternately fulfilled and desperately aching for him the next. When she felt him smile against her mouth, she pulled back from the kiss and took a breath to swear at him. He took the opportunity to move his mouth down to suddenly suck one of her nipples into his mouth.

Arsinoë let her head fall back. "Bastard."

"So they tell me."

She grabbed his hair as his mouth dropped back to her breast. She arched into him and moaned his name. "Maahes …" She looked down to stare him in the eyes, lust clouding her vision as effectively as the steam. "More," she ordered.

Taking that to mean – accurately – more of everything, Maahes obeyed. The precipice they had been walking no longer existed, and his slow, languorous thrusts turned suddenly sharp and quick, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises. Rubbing against the tiles left small grazes on her back. The interplay of pleasure with a knife-edge of pain made her breathless and intoxicated – when her climax surged up to claim her, it was like being blinded. She felt Maahes shudder as he came a moment later, breathing her name against her shoulder in ecstasy.

Slowly, he pulled her away from the wall. She hissed as the scalding water hit the grazes on her back. He kissed her gently but didn't apologise, which was as she expected. " _Frigidarium_?"

She nodded, heading to the steps which led out of the _caldarium._ At the top, she paused and turned to face him. "Maahes? There's an infusion of various herbs that can prevent pregnancy. Do I need to procure some?"

"No," she answered.

"No because our liaison will be discontinued after I leave Rome, or no because I cannot bear your child?"

"The latter. Vampires do not reproduce in that way."

She nodded, feeling cheered. He had answered the first question too: they would continue this. She could have him a little longer.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

"So," Lucius began later that evening, "'after you leave Rome'?"

They were sat in the villa's courtyard, enjoying the last of the evening sunshine while Arsinoë ate. It was a blessed relief not to have any food in front of him, not to pretend. He had wine, of course, a full bodied liquid with red berries in its bouquet.

Arsinoë shrugged. "I cannot stay."

"Even here?"

"No matter how gilded, a cage is still a cage. I am enjoying being in your arms, Maahes. Don't make them a prison."

"You won't be free again, Arsinoë. It matters not where you go from here, you have proven too dangerous to allow your freedom."

"Who said anything about being allowed?" she queried. "You and I both know I could escape most situations if given enough time."

"Most of your resources have gone now too," he pointed out.

She laughed merrily. "It bodes well that even you believe it, Maahes."

Lucius chose not to pursue that particular line of questioning further. He did not need to know the specifics of her network, or the placement of her agents. He doubted Arsinoë would tell him were he to ask. It was no hardship – three centuries of vampirism had done a lot to ensure that secrets and the keeping of them were second nature. And that was one of the things he liked about her, he realised now. In the past, other lovers had grown wearied of the things they did not know about him; Arsinoë had secrets of her own, and a mind sharp enough to enjoy seeking out others. Philipus would like her too, he thought.

"Where _am_ I going?" Arsinoë asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"That's not yet been decided. If you wished to place a wager, though, the odds are in favour of the Temple of Artemis."

"Ephesus again? Do you think Megabyzos would take me back?"

He tilted his head in consideration. "Good point. Too much trouble by half."

"Especially when accompanied by overprotective Romans," she teased, reaching for a fig.

"Someone _had_ just tried to kill you."

"And they will again, no doubt."

He caught her hand and pulled her to him, kissing her. She had the sweetness of the fruit on her lips. When he pulled away, he pushed a strand of her hair back. "Arsinoë, if you stop. If you leave Cleopatra be and chose to be safe–"

"And fill my days how?"

"Any way you choose. Write histories. Race chariots, become a priestess, anything."

"Ignoring the fact that priestesses of Artemis are required to be _chaste,_ no," she said. She spoke calmly, though he could see a dangerous glint in her eyes. "The gods spared my life because I have work yet to do. I did not leave Egypt willingly. And I will fight to get it back. I am the rightful queen. Nothing will tempt me to abandon my nation or my people."

He smiled despite himself, feeling the same admiration he'd felt during the triumph. She was just as immutable now as she had been then, but animated and fiery. "Fierce as Artemis. Even if you won't pledge your life to her."

She pulled away. "Speaking of hunters," she said. "Show me."

"No," he said, calmly but without hesitation.

"You've already told me where you derive your nourishment from. It's blood."

"And you've already seen me feeding. You don't need to see me hunting."

"Because?"

"When you watched me kill that man, drain his blood, did it occur to you that I was as 'civilised' as you had known me until that point?"

"No," she said. "That's why it excited me. Surely you have understood, Maahes – you do not frighten me when you are your true self. It's glorious."

He looked at her for a long time, but she seemed in earnest. And he knew she was excited by his nature; apart from her impatience with any pretense, her arousal was always strongest when it was demonstrated. In the light of their conversation about her heritage, it made sense: to her mind, she was a demigoddess, finding her equal.

"I cannot show you in Rome," he said. "There are too many people."

She nodded. "But outside of Rome?"

"Perhaps."

Later, when they lay in bed after their lovemaking, he reached for the numbing balm he'd put on her wrists after the triumph. Arsinoë, stretched on her front, watched him with one eye open. Her body was open, her skin warm and supple under his hands. He rubbed a small amount of the balm onto the grazes on her back.

She groaned in relief. "What is that?"

He smiled. "I'll have the recipe given to Sabra."

"Thank you."

He worked for a few moments, noting how relaxed she was. "Do you still fear for your life?" he asked.

"Of course," she said frankly, though there was no actual fear in her. She saw it merely as an inevitability.

"Cleopatra is far from you now."

"Now," she repeated with a nod. "But she will not be far for long. She has Caesar's child, and she has Egypt's wealth to offer him as well. She will come to Rome, be it in several months or a few years."

"She will not hurt you," he said firmly. There was iron in his tone, certainty that made her afraid. Afraid because she knew he would do anything in his considerable power to prevent that happening. Afraid because Cleopatra had no insignificant power of her own.

"Maahes, she might use a weapon as mundane as an assassin; she might use her magic to influence Caesar once she is here. Do not make yourself uneasy if you are unequal to the might of Rome."

"Uneasy?" he repeated.

When she looked at him, he was taken back to his discussion with Elena, once more as clear as glass. Arsinoë felt the fury in him, whether at the idea that he would be unable to protect her, or that she knew him to be.

* * *

The Temple of Artemis was the agreed-upon prison for Queen Arsinoë. It was traditional, far from both Rome and Egypt, and hard to argue with. So, a week after the triumph, they were on the road once more. Without the threat of death hanging over her, it was verging on pleasant.

"Show me."

Verging on pleasant until now, of course. It seemed to be a continuation of their conversation weeks ago. He'd thought she might have dropped the subject, but apparently she'd merely been biding her time. Now that they were out on the road, with a small contingent of guards and no one else around – at times, for miles – she had apparently decided it was time to ask again. Or command, it seemed.

As it happened, he had not fed in at least a week, and he knew there was abundant prey nearby. "If I show you, you do exactly as I tell you. That is my one condition."

She nodded. "Very well."

" _Without_ delay or question."

"That is two conditions, Maahes," she teased. "But yes, you have my word."

They took his horse, Lucius lifting her into the saddle before seating himself. He gestured for his men to remain where they were. Over the last few nights they had gone off together and it had become a routine. Each time, Arsinoë had remained silent, kept her eyes forward and maintained an impassive mask. It was a ruse they had silently agreed upon: she would play the impotent, though dignified, former queen, and he the rough-handling, opportunistic rapist. Simpler this way. He was certain that it was not fooling any of his men, but at least this way, no one could be absolutely certain of anything. They rode for about a mile into the dense trees, until the animal tracks began to get too windy and overgrown to really take the horse much further.

"We walk from here," he said.

As they went further into the forest, his senses become even more attuned to the noises and movements of the animals around them. Arsinoë kept silent, even her footsteps muffled. There was a herd of deer not far ahead, so Lucius began scanning for a place that might be safe for her to watch.

He settled on a large tree with branches not too close to the ground. Arsinoë seemed less than impressed. "You must be in jest."

"You gave me your word."

She sighed through her nose. "Well, then I assume you intend to throw me up there? I could not get up there alone even if I did make a habit of scrambling up trees."

"How good are your reactions?"

"Not as good as yours."

"But enough to allow you to pull yourself up?"

"You _are_ intending to throw me, aren't you?"

Scandalised or not, she was soon sequestered in the branches, high enough to be safe from predators. From most predators.

"Stay here until I come for you."

She nodded, and watched as he disappeared into the gloom. He could hear a pack of wolves approaching too, also stalking the same deer. It added another edge of excitement and anticipation to the hunt. For now though, he intended to drive his prey back to the clearing where he had left Arsinoë. It was child's play to guide the animals back to where he wanted them. He selected a stag with the most dangerous-looking antlers. There had to be a little challenge, after all. But the challenge, when it came, came after the stag had been felled and Lucius had begun to take the animal's blood.

He could hear Arsinoë's breathing and heartbeat in the tree above, and both were relatively calm. She was intrigued, but it was not until she heard, as he had, the wolves, that adrenaline began to spike the air.

There were seven of them in the pack, and they had failed to recognise his true nature. Having allowed him to make the kill, they then sought to steal it. It would likely feed the pack for several days, but Lucius was possessive. Still crouched low over the carcass, he made it clear he did not intend to budge. The leader of the pack crouched likewise, its gums peeling back from yellow fangs, a growl which vibrated the air, and the fur on its back sticking up in a thick ridge. It leapt for him and was given precisely three seconds to regret it before he twisted, caught it, and had slammed it head-first into the ground. Its neck broke instantly. The rest of the pack rushed at him, attempting to overwhelm him by force. Within moments, three of them were retreating, yelping and limping, into the tress. The others were dead or dying, stood over by their would-be victim. Lucius took the body of the alpha and drained it summarily.

Despite knowing that he was more dangerous now than he had been at any other stage in their relationship – and she did know, her heartbeat thundered and her breathing would have been audible even to a human – Arsinoë dropped carefully to the ground and approached cautiously. He watched her, feeling the ease with which he had destroyed these animals, and knowing he could do just the same to her. He might have the best of both; absorb her fully and confirm that she would taste of poppies and marjoram, and then turn her, have a mate for all future encounters like this, another hunter to share and compete with.

Arsinoë bent to touch the wound at the stag's throat, her hand coming back red and dripping. As if she could hear his thought, she lifted it to her lips. "Don't-"

She stopped, and lowered her hand. In doing so, she dragged her bloody fingertips down her throat and chest, leaving red streaks between her breasts. There was a promise and an invitation in her eyes, though she could not help the start she gave when he was suddenly in front of her, no allowance made for her human senses to catch up with his speed. A flash of a grin crossed her face, then she slid her hands into his hair and pulled his face down to hers, kissing him passionately. She bit suddenly at his lip, not enough to do real damage but enough to draw blood, dark and shiny at her mouth. He felt his control slip a little further from his grasp as her tongue darted out to taste it, the scent of desire filling up his senses. She kept hold of his head as he moved down her neck, then her chest. Poised above where her heartbeat was loudest, he glanced up. She gave a breathless nod in response. The next sound she made was one of pain shot through with want as he latched on at the heart vein. A sequence of images and emotions flashed through his mind, as colourful and riotous as any triumph had ever been, and chaotic as any battle.

He saw Arsinoë as a child, as a young woman trying desperately to forge her own place in the world. Arsinoë, heartbroken, come to the realisation that the older sister she idolised would never love her in return.

 _This is what it is like._

Arsinoë a strong and radiant queen, equal to any man in the world, above the vast majority. Choosing to defend her people against an unassailable foe. Arsinoë, triumphant and victorious in battle – and thereafter, alone.

 _This is what it is like to die._

Arsinoë meeting a creature unlike any other she had seen before, a predator who moved willingly among prey but did not strike. A force of nature capable of utter destruction who refused to unleash his fury on the world. Arsinoë recognising her equal and full of exhilaration. Her relief and joy and feeling of completion. At last.

 _Did I leave too much undone?_

It was that final thought that stopped him. She did not seem afraid, but it was a clear, calm, piercing question that cut through. She had much to do. More than he could take from her.

He lifted his mouth from her breast and looked to her face. Her eyes were half-lidded and delirious, and he was holding all of her weight, as her legs had collapsed beneath her. He'd not taken a huge amount of her blood, but she had tasted his too, and its soporific effect was taking hold.

"How did you know of the heart vein?" he asked raggedly.

She managed a smile. "I knew you would not harm me …"

She was losing her grip on consciousness; it was a mark of her indomitable will that she'd managed to resist the effect of his blood as long as she had, but now she relaxed and went limp in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Go to sleep, _amare_."

Her breathing was deep and even, the wound in her chest already beginning to heal. By morning, it would be a silver, crescent-shaped scar. When she woke, they would need to talk about the heart vein, about what she had really given him in that moment.

When they emerged from the trees and back to camp, his men looked truly astonished at the state Arsinoë was in – bloody and apparently battered into unconsciousness. It confirmed his guess that up until now, they had assumed an actual relationship was in progress. Now they had added weight to the idea of a helpless prisoner and her abuser.

Sabra had also let out a shocked cry and rushed towards them, hands outstretched to Arsinoë. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by wolves," he said, deciding on at least some of the truth as his men jumped to their feet. Not doing so would portray Arsinoë as a victim of some kind, which was unacceptable.

"Is she seriously hurt, sir?"

"Are _you_ hurt, sir?"

He shook his head. "She'll be alright. Bring me a cloth and some water."

"Let me tend to her," Sabra said.

"I'll do it myself."

She looked reluctant, but did as he'd said. A few moments later she came back with the materials he wanted. He took Arsinoë into his tent and washed the blood from her skin. She slept peacefully throughout, while he constantly looked at the bond mark he'd left on her flesh.

The next morning, he spoke to her in Greek, as it was a shared language for the two of them, but not one spoken by any of his men. "How did you know of the heart vein?"

"This?" she asked, hand going to the place under her robe. "What about it?"

"Its significance."

"What is its significance?" she asked.

He looked at her carefully before he answered, deciding that she really was ignorant of it. "Trust is a hard thing to come by, between creatures like me. Over the centuries we collect secrets like we collect names. When we …" _Mate,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind, "form a relationship with another, feeding from the heart vein is a symbol of trust."

"Because it makes the other vulnerable?"

"Partly. But also because we experience the memories and experiences of the other."

Her eyes were wide. Clearly, she'd had no idea. "Everything?"

"Not everything. Not from one bite. But more than you perhaps intended for me to know about you."

She sighed and looked away, deep in thought. "You did not tell me any of this before."

"It wasn't relevant before."

"But you did tell me you would be more … unpredictable when hunting. I accepted the risk. And I do not think you would use what you now know to betray me–"

"Never."

She smiled at him. "Then ... I am content."

"Arsinoë, this has created a bond between us that will last a lifetime."

"Maahes. I am _content_."

He had no reason to disbelieve her. But he did not feed from her heart vein again.

* * *

When they arrived at Ephesus, the High Priest, Megabyzos, was waiting for them on the temple steps, along with a sizable crowd. To everyone's surprise – perhaps even including his own – he bowed deeply. "Queen Arsinoë. Welcome."

Arsinoë sincerely hoped, for his sake, that Cleopatra had no spies in the crowd. It was a vain hope, but still. Megabyzos either did not notice his slip, or it had been a wilful declaration. Interesting. She'd not looked for an ally here.

He turned to go inside. "Wait," she said.

"My lady?"

She gestured to Sabra who came forward with a bundle. "I have a gift for the goddess." She unrolled the linen wrapping to reveal an exquisitely jewelled bow, wrought entirely from shining silver. There was a quiver of arrows to match. There were gasps of admiration from the crowd as the sun glinted from the ornate weapon. Not that it was of much use as a weapon.

Megabyzos was open-mouthed. "This is truly a rich gift, Queen Arsinoë. But do you not devote yourself to other gods?"

"Of course, as a daughter of Isis, I could do no less. But it would be ungracious to ignore my hostess in her own house." She stepped closer and gave him the bundle. "Artemis is offering me sanctuary. I wish to thank her for that."

"This should do the trick," he murmured. He bowed to her and handed off the bow to one of the other priests. Then he led the way inside. "As you know, the Temple of Artemis has been a place of asylum and sanctuary for centuries, my lady, and we are proud to continue this tradition. With the grace of the Huntress, you will be safe here."

She had comfortable quarters, and at least some servants. The captain of the garrison had been informed of her presence, and that the patrols would need to be vigilant. Maahes made it clear that the main danger was assassination rather than escape.

Arsinoë seemed happy enough with the accommodation, though the difference between these half-dozen rooms and the sprawling complex of the Alexandria palace could not be lost on her. In the quiet after Megabyzos had left, Arsinoë looked at him.

"When do you have to leave?"

"Soon. I could linger another week."

"Then do," she said simply.

In that week, they did more than lay in bed – though that would have been perfectly acceptable, as far as Arsinoë was concerned. Maahes, however, was determined that if she was to be left alone, then she had to more adequately know how to defend herself. She had food-tasters for poison, to be sure, but assassins _would_ come, and they would not come in all the expected ways. Therefore, he drilled her.

She was less than impressed at his choice of weapon. "A khopesh? You do realise no one has used one of these since the eighteenth dynasty?'

"Your guards in Alexandria had them," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Because Cleopatra prefers style over substance."

"On the contrary. The lack of use of the khopesh makes it an idea weapon in defending yourself. An assassin may not be able to counter it."

She took it dubiously from his hand. "Useless for, say, stabbing, however."

"I'm not concerned about assailants who merely require stabbing," he said.

"You think creatures like you will come," she realised.

"I think they may. And if they do, a piercing wound is not going to save your life. The khopesh is a slashing weapon. Good for inflicting maximum blood loss."

"Is that how to kill someone like you?" she asked.

"It's how to try," he responded evenly. "I do not know of any vampires who want you dead, and vampires and witches have … a mutual distaste."

"So it's unlikely my sister will send a vampire."

"Unlikely. Not impossible."

"Very well." She balanced the khopesh and then dropped into a defensive stance. "Show me how to kill you then, Maahes."

So he did. Again and again, forming defences against every variety of attack either of them could think of. When she could do it with at least a degree of competency, he blindfolded her and drilled it through again.

Later, the blindfold was used for other purposes.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Weeks moved past, and then months, then a year had gone by since Arsinoë's exile. In that year, Cleopatra had visited Rome. There had been a slight uptick in the number of assassination attempts on Arsinoë. None had been successful, though one had come close. Lucius had not been there, and she had been poisoned. Only her habit of dosing herself with small amounts of poisons had saved her. Lucius rarely had dreams, but that particular incident had given him nightmares for weeks.

Lucius was used to years rolling by like decades. It was the vampiric mindset. Not since he had been human had he known time to crawl in the way it did when he was away from Ephesus, and Arsinoë. Every opportunity he had, he went to her, and was always received into her arms with joy. That joy was always reciprocated. It was probably against some rule somewhere that the exiled, imprisoned queen be allowed to take night-time excursions with her lover. But when that lover was a Roman _tribunus_ who looked like he could tear one's head off with his bare hands, no one was brave enough to challenge it. So Arsinoë was often found not in the temple or its vicinity, but instead along to the coast, or in the mountains.

It was cold tonight, particularly for a woman used to the heat of Egypt. The breeze fairly whipped off the white-capped waves and howled its way inland. The two of them were in the hills, looking directly down at Ephesus and the white rectangle of the temple, gleaming in the moonlight. Arsinoë wore a shawl, but had underestimated how chilly it would be, even with their fire. She did not need to shiver for Lucius to know she was cold, and he removed his clock and wrapped it around her, the wolf-fur collar instantly warming.

"Thank you."

"This is not the desert. It will begin to snow soon enough."

"Snow?" she smiled. "I didn't think that was real."

"It's real. And beautiful, in its way. Tiny flakes of ice, each one totally unique, floating down from the sky."

"Flakes of ice? It sounds horrible."

He chuckled and wrapped her in his arms. It wouldn't make her warmer, but she relaxed into him anyway. "Remind me never to take you to Britannia."

"What's in Britannia?"

"Rain, for the most part."

"That must make it difficult to stay comfortable."

He leaned down and followed the scent and sound of her blood up her neck before speaking into her ear. "Sometimes, _amare_ , a little discomfort is exactly what is required."

* * *

When they returned to the Temple of Artemis, two days later, it was to find Arsinoë's rooms stuffed full to the brim with chests of treasure. Lucius lifted the lid of one. It was stacked with rolls of fine, polished silks. Another contained Egyptian jewels that Lucius recognised from the triumph.

"What is all this?"

"Gifts, from Gaius Octavian."

"Why is he sending you gifts?" Lucius growled.

"He is ambitious. He wishes to be at Caesar's level one day. The already-trodden path is to gain the favour of an Egyptian queen, is it not?" She smiled. "To put it simply, I believe he's wooing me."

"And jewels and silks are enough to _woo_ you, are they?" he sneered angrily.

Arsinoë did not need to know him as well as she did to hear the sharp possessiveness under his tone. She grinned and provocatively ran her hand through the coins in the chest that had been delivered most recently. "They might. Why, Maahes? Jealous?"

Realising she was teasing, his stance relaxed slightly, at least no longer murderous. He had never reminded her more of a lion, however, than when he advanced on her now. She felt no frisson of fear.

"You play a dangerous game."

She slid her hand down his chest. "Oh, and I play to win, I assure you."

He caught her hand before she got further south, gripping her arm to turn her back to the gifts from Octavian. "I don't play for what is already mine." He pressed himself against her back, his hardness twitching against her inner thigh. Unlike the first time he had held her like this, Arsinoë had no desire to stab him. But she wasn't quite done with pushing him either.

"Such confidence," she replied. "Why should I choose you when I have all this?"

She was not disappointed; in the next second, he had more or less thrown her on the bed. "Say yes."

She threw him a grin over his shoulder. "Yes."

He touched between her legs, rubbing at her clit and making sure she was wet. The other hand curled under her body, lifting her torso against his. She moaned, aching for him now. Her senses were overwhelmed when he buried himself inside her with a groan.

"This is why you choose me," he breathed. "This."

Their rhythm was short, sharp movements of their bodies, her hands everywhere she could reach. She blindly sought out his mouth, needing the contact; he denied her, fastening his mouth on her shoulder until her climax hit, fucking her through it. When the stars had faded from her vision, she felt his hand at the base of her back, urging her down. She obeyed, falling onto her hands and knees while her lover took hold of her hips and continued. The pleasure built to an intensity which wiped her mind of anything but _perfect_ and _yes_ and _more._ She babbled words to that effect in languages she barely remembered, the only coherent thought, his name. They came together in blind ecstasy, Maahes filling her with white heat and burning away anything that had been before.

Arsinoë collapsed, and was drawn, boneless, into the circle of his arms. He finally kissed her. "And now?" he asked. "Do you still choose me?"

She could only smile. "Every time." With her skin humming, Arsinoë stretched, still grinning. "Shall I tell you the truth now? Octavian _is_ wooing me – as an ally."

"He thinks he will still need Egypt."

"He _will_ need Egypt. Our wealth at least. And it is easier to take it through trade than conquest."

That was true. Less fun, but true. In the event of Caesar's death, Octavian would have a hard enough time holding Rome's territories together without armed rebellion from Egypt. "So he intends to reinstall you as Queen, in place of Cleopatra."

"I believe that is his current plan. Once he is in control of Rome."

"And you're so certain he will be?"

"If he is not, my situation will not worsen, will it? Unless Cleopatra gets her hands on him, in which case assassins will be sent. Which is my daily routine, after all."

"So for now you allow Octavian to shower you in luxuries."

"It would be rude not to."

Her lover smirked and languidly ran his hand along her side. "At what point will he discover gold and silks are _not_ enough to bend you to his will?"

"When I am safely in Alexandria, of course."

* * *

Nominally, Lucius was still Caesar's shadow. But it would be a lie to say that was where his focus lay. It was a fact which did not please his father. As the second year of Arsinoë's exile began to wane, Lucius found himself with a month or so to spare. He intended to spend most of it with her. That was not to say he was disrespectful to his father. He had come home and found Justus was gone to fill the family's seat in the Senate. He and Philipus had gone hunting together and left a sizeable dent in the wildlife population around the villa. It was not as satisfying, nutritionally, as human blood, but the activity was good for renewing the bonds of family. After the blood had come wine and talk and laughter – it was only as Lucius was preparing to depart that a tension crept between them.

"Come," Philipus said the night before Lucius was due to depart. "Spar with me."

They each selected a weapon – or a weapon and a shield, in Philipus' case (though Lucius had chosen an enormous axe) – and began. But just because they were fighting, did not mean that they weren't talking strategy.

"What are your impressions of the people's opinion of Caesar?"

Lucius met the shield-bash, the two of them physically matched in strength and struggling. "He is as popular as ever. No one was comfortable with Cleopatra's visit, but she out of the public eye now and they have mostly forgotten her." He pushed left, knocking Philipus off balance. He span around to face him again, re-gripping the haft of his axe. "Why?"

"Justus reports that the Senate is less enthralled. They feel he is a threat to the Republic." Philipus waited for Lucius to charge him, and then dodged, swiping at Lucius as he barrelled past, opening a shallow cut along his side.

"He's a general. He's used to having his orders obeyed without debate or consultation." Lucius swung, and embedded the axe in Philipus' shield. It meant he was disarmed, but Philipus was left with only a dagger. "It's hardly surprising that he rules Rome that way too."

Philipus nodded and swiped at Lucius with the dagger. "I agree. But that is precisely the problem. He _rules_ Rome. He will do for the rest of his life. He has a son, an acknowledged son, whose formal name is Pharaoh Caesar. You can see why they're concerned."

"The Senate cannot think that he will declare himself King? Not even the people's goodwill could take him that far. No Roman would wear it." When Philipus stabbed at him again, Lucius twisted and grabbed his wrist, kicking the back of his leg to force him to one knee.

"But neither would they allow him to be deposed?" Philipus asked, the dagger now less than two inches from his neck.

Lucius briefly stopped trying to kill his father and considered. Politics were not his forte – exactly why Justus was the one in the Senate – but he knew a mob. "If it were as obvious as that, a coup, then no. But then if he were deposed, it would hardly matter what the people wanted. Caesar's legions are fiercely loyal. There would be civil war."

Philipus got to his feet. "That is Elena's assessment as well."

"And what did she advise?"

"Patience."

That seemed to signal the end of their sparring match, short though it had been. Servants brought clothes to wipe away the small amounts of blood, and wine. "You're going to Ephesus," Philipus said, after drinking. It was not a question, but it signalled some displeasure nonetheless.

Lucius turned. "Of course."

Philipus nodded. "Of course ..." he repeated.

"Father?"

"I want you to end this liaison. Arsinoë is in a dangerous position – dangerous not only to herself."

"She is not a danger to me."

"No?" asked Philipus sharply. "You return to Ephesus whenever possible. You are often distant. You are resentful when ordered away from her. Your judgement is skewed."

Lucius frowned. "You have never objected to my having a lover before."

"You have never had a lover before. You've had bedmates."

There was a silence while Lucius battled anger he knew it would be unacceptable to show to his father. But it rankled: being told what his own feelings were, being told he responded to orders with petulance and sulking – these were things one might say to a child. Not to a favoured, adult son. He and his father saw eye to eye on almost everything, and ordinarily he would banish anything that disrupted that. Ordinarily. He knew his voice deliberately level but knew Philpus would sense his change in mood. "If I am in love, I fail to see why it is a problem." _Or why it is any business of yours._

"I have listed the problems. I need you sharp. This is making you blunt."

"Respectfully. I disagree."

"If there is a civil war, who should we support?"

Lucius opened his mouth to give the correct answer – Caesar – and halfway, remembered Arsinoë. No one who opposed Caesar would look favourably on Cleopatra. Which meant they would be more likely to support Arsinoë's claim to Egypt's throne.

Philipus took his distraction as the opportunity to slam him against the wall of the ring and stab him through the shoulder. "Blunt," he said as his son gasped in pain. He ripped the dagger out savagely. "End it," he ordered. "Your loyalties are already divided. There may well be a civil war in Rome – I will not tolerate one in my own family. End it."

Lucius closed his eyes briefly. "It may already be too late for that."

Suspicion had hardened to certainty in Philipus' tawny eyes even before he lifted the dagger to his mouth. But the taste of Lucius' blood confirmed it. He dropped the dagger in the dirt and turned away in disgust.

Lucius felt a very insecure urge to explain. "Father–"

"No." It was some moments before Philipus could apparently speak again, and when he did, he still couldn't look at Lucius. "That you have mated is one thing. That you have done so _without her consent_ is another, entirely unacceptable, occurrance."

"It has not been without her consent!" Lucius protested.

"This is not something you can do through silent gestures and half-sentences!" Philipus roared, facing him again. Arsinoë had called Lucius lion-headed. She would be revising her opinion if she could see his father now. "Not until you are down on your knees and pledging your whole being to her, not until she can look and see you offering your entire _soul_ can she know what she is agreeing to!"

Lucius had no answer for that.

"Go back to Caesar," Philipus said, his voice back to normal volume but screaming disappointment. "Decide what it is you want, Lucius. Get out until you do."

When he arrived at Ephesus, two weeks later, the feeling of bereavement had not faded. Knowing he was no longer welcome in his father's house was like having a limb missing. Banishment and denouncement by one's sire was the ultimate dishonour a vampire could bear, so his only consolation was that Philipus had not gone so far as that. It was cold comfort.

Arsinoë knew from one look that something was wrong, but she did not ask what, or why he needed to lose himself in the planes of her body so badly. She merely opened herself to him, running her slim fingers through his hair and along his back, gripping his shoulders tightly when he moved within her, responding with gentle passion to his hard kisses, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. Lucius was less kind, and wrung pleasure from her until she was unable to stop shaking. Feeling there was little point in holding back, he bit at her heart vein as he climaxed. Arsinoë held his head to the wound until he had tasted every thought and emotion running through her.

Later, when she had nearly fallen asleep against him, he spoke for the first time since he arrived. "Arsinoë?"

"Mmm?"

"If it all falls through. If you are neither queen nor assassinated – what then?" He could not imagine her growing grey here, her graceful form bent with age and stumbling towards the grave.

"Well, leave here. Travel. See the world beyond Rome, if there is still such a place."

"Would you go where I couldn't follow?"

She looked into his face. "I do not believe there is anywhere you could not follow me, Maahes." She smiled, and it was affectionate but sad. "As long as you wanted to."

This was the first time either of them had referenced the fact that she would grow old. The likely fate the gods had designated for her was still to be taken young, but even so. She had an opportunity to do what Lucius never would. To live for decades. To bear children, re-establish her dynasty, see her _grandchildren_ , grow old and then die. And then, in the manner of her people, be embalmed and reverently wrapped in pristine white linen, her likeness preserved forever on a stone sarcophagus while her true face – the face he was touching now – shrivelled and cracked.

A feeling that meant have been panic forced him to his feet. "I must go."

Arsinoë was startled at first, but understanding quickly flashed in her dark eyes. She thought he was leaving her now. That this was all the farewell she might expect. She rose to a sitting position, drawing her knees up, watching him as he dressed.

"Very well. Goodbye then, Maahes."

He leaned down to kiss her, but didn't touch her for fear of revealing how his hands trembled.

They didn't stop trembling until after he had hunted and fought with a bear, torn it apart and fed. Then he watched the sun rise over the hills around Ephesus and waited for the superficial wounds he had gathered to heal. It was somehow easier, surrounded by the stench of animal death, to contemplate Arsinoë's eventual demise. Easier, in that he did not find it suddenly impossible to breathe or think, but more difficult too, to acknowledge the destination all his thought arrived at.

She must not die.

Time could not be allowed to wither her. No long, slow decline, no welcoming of death as an old friend. No chance of dying in childbirth. No human plague or pestilence. If – _if_ she was to be taken from him, then it must be as she was now, as a queen in her prime. If that happened, he would be able to … He would what? Be able to what?

Philipus had been a vampire nearly a thousand years before he and Elena had found one another. His brother had still not mated. And here Lucius was, a mere three centuries into immortality, and Arsinoë had come into his life. He despised his brother's habit of mooning and brooding over things he could not change, and now-

A chuckle escaped his lips, self-deprecating and wry.

Did Arsinoë feel the same indissoluble connection to him as he did to her? If she did, there was only one possible course of action. And only one equally indissoluble obstacle: his father would never agree.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**To my dear guest, two things:**

 **1\. I am _genuinely_ baffled as to how you found your way onto an All Souls archive if strong females vex you so?**

 **2\. My thanks for the unimaginative epithets, but my preferred adjective is social justice _crusader_ , fyi ;) **

**Oh, and damn - yes, you caught us out. Us feminists have already steamrollered our way across Europe. But soon, the world!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

The news of Caesar's assassination sent shockwaves through the entire world.

Even Arsinoë, with spies in every corner of the Republic, had not foreseen it. She had been waiting for a coup, for Caesar to be deposed or forced out by the Senate. For them to _murder_ him, actually stab him to death on the Senate floor was completely unexpected. To say it was an unpopular act would have been the understatement of a millennium. Even Ephesus, a place Caesar had never visited, was in uproar. There were riots at the governor's villa due to the man's familial connections with one of the rumoured assassins. In Rome, conditions were reportedly so bad that many of the city government buildings had been razed to the ground and the Senate building actually set on fire. Arsinoë doubted that last one – a structure made entirely of marble was not an easy thing to burn. But still. No matter how big a threat to the Republic he might have been, Caesar was beloved by the people. And they were not grateful to his assassins for saving them from tyranny.

For herself, she was cautiously optimistic. It was true that there would now have to be a Roman civil war, but that had been almost inevitable anyway. There was no reason it should affect Egypt, despite Cleopatra's relationship with Caesar. She would be too busy consolidating her own power to lend Egyptian troops to hunting down Caesar's assassins. So, naturally, Arsinoë's thoughts turned to the one person she cared about who _would_ be affected by Caesar's death. Maahes had never asked anything about her spy network, but after her intervention, he would know exactly how far it extended. Sharing her secrets did not come easily to her. But if she wanted allies in the future, she would have to give away some of her strength now. A calculated risk.

"Sabra," she said.

"My Queen?"

"Get me the latest reports on the locations of Caesar's assassins. Immediately."

"Yes, my lady. At once." Sabra looked at her curiously, wondering why the sudden urgency.

Arsinoë smiled. "Caesar is dead. My sister's position is weakened. All bets are off now."

* * *

Caesar's assassination marked the first time Lucius had ever seen his father be surprised by the actions of humans. In the ensuing crisis, Philipus had (temporarily at least) buried whatever disappointment he still held, and called both his sons home. When Lucius got there, the person most glad to see him was Justus.

"Thank the gods, he has someone else to shout at now."

"You _were_ placed in the Senate," Lucius said. "How is it you missed a conspiracy to murder the dictator?"

"All indications were that we were heading for a coup, not a full-blown assassination! And then Antony – by Jupiter, _I_ could murder Antony! What man agrees to an amnesty of his friend's killers, followed by a eulogy designed to whip Rome up into a fury?"

"One who thinks he's being clever," Lucius said.

"Come on. Father wanted to see you as soon as you arrived."

Philipus and Elena were in Philipus' study, with models of standards of various legions in front of them. They were grouped into three main locations. Those of Brutus and Cassius (though their exact location was a little vague), those of Mark Antony, and those of Gaius Octavian, Caesar's legal heir. The two vampires were acting out battles. Lucius checked – Elena appeared to be winning, which was impressive considering her forces were inferior in number. Without speaking, Lucius moved to his father's side and implemented his own strategy. Half an hour later, Brutus and Cassius were defeated, and Octavian and Antony were left.

Elena conceded her defeat with a graceful nod. "This is likely to be the outcome, no?"

"I agree," Lucius said. "But what then?"

"Octavian has shown considerable political skill, getting this far, and gathering as many of Caesar's men as he has. And as Caesar's adoptive son he has the people's sympathy. He could lead a powerful faction in the Senate," Philipus said.

"Difficult as it may be to accept, my love, I think this democratic experiment of yours is over," Elena said. "The Republic is finished, one way or another."

"It might be beneficial to allow it to fall for us, too," Justus said. "One man at the helm is easier to control than influencing many might be."

"And Octavian is a young man," Elena nodded. "Therefore might be molded."

"But he is an unknown quantity."

Philipus grunted. He didn't like unknown quantities. "Antony might be a better choice. He is already popular with the people and has proven that he will cooperate with the Senate when necessary."

"Antony needs a war to know what to do with himself," Lucius said.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Justus muttered.

"Life cannot always be war," Elena said. "Octavian should be our choice."

Justus frowned. "He's nothing more than a child. A boy. Antony-"

"Is brash and limited. He knows how to control a battlefield; Octavian knows how to control Rome."

"Caesar was no fool," their father said thoughtfully. "He made Octavian his heir. Adopted him. I agree – we go with Octavian. Lucius, reach out to your contacts in Caesar's legions. Get them to side with Octavian. By the time we get to the summer he may have a formidable number of men. Justus, make sure Octavian knows it is in his best interests to pay them well. If he doesn't have the funds, we'll supply them up to five hundred denariis each. Work together. Octavian will need political support as well as manpower."

"We need to know where Brutus and Cassius are. No point in gathering troops if you're not going to–"

There was a knock, and Philipus' steward come in, bowing. " _Dominus_. This arrived for Dominus Lucius."

Lucius took it. It was from Arsinoë, written in the code they had developed together. "Finding Brutus and Cassius will not be a problem. Arsinoë knows where they are."

" _How_?" Justus asked.

Lucius shrugged. "I imagine she has at least one spy in the household of every Senator."

Philipus and Elena exchanged a slightly alarmed glance.

"She also suggests how to begin stoking the divisions between Octavian and Antony."

"Money?" Elena asked. "Antony is the executor of Caesar's will."

"Money to begin with, yes. And then the matter of Caesar's divinity."

Over the coming weeks, Arsinoë was proved correct in her predictions. Not surprisingly, given that her agent in Antony's camp was better placed than any spy the Monsafí family employed: his long-time manservant, Posca. Lucius, busy rallying Caesar's legions to Octavian's cause, had her letters and Justus' to confirm it.

Antony was beginning to drag his feet over the transfer of Octavian's inheritance.

He also rejected calls to elevate Caesar to divine status. Chief among his reasons was that he didn't want Octavian to be able to call himself _Divi filius_ : the son of god. Lucius made sure that little piece of gossip made its way straight to Octavian's ears. Everything was progressing according to plan, but Lucius could find no joy in it. Philipus was back to communicating with him on a minimal basis, and he had denied himself Arsinoë for months. Separated from both of them, Lucius felt as though he was missing _two_ limbs.

He wondered how long it would be until Arsinoë's letters stopped coming. Until her spies busied themselves only for her advancement. Until she stopped missing him – if she even did.

* * *

Arsinoë's next gift from Octavian it was proof that the gods had a sense of irony. Delivered in a wooden cage and very impatient to get out, it was a lion cub. He looked to be about two months old, and seemed not at all afraid. So much so that he swiped at her hand when she reached into the cage to pull him out. Deciding she would have none of that, Arsinoë quickly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out. He yowled in protest, but calmed down quickly. It was, after all, rather how his mother would have carried him about.

"Bring me some water and some meat," she ordered her servants.

When it was brought to her, she let the cub drink freely, and put a chunk of meat down in front of him. And then, when he went for it, either batted his paws away or slammed his head against the floor.

Sabra winced at the painful yelp the cub gave. "My queen? Is it necessary to-"

"Of course it is," Arsinoë snapped. "He either learns to obey me now, or we put him down."

"I understand, my Queen, yet even so I cannot help wondering-"

Arsinoë had had enough. She grabbed Sabra's arm and held it as tightly as she could, her grip hard enough to bruise. "Does that hurt?"

"I- Yes, my Queen, yes!"

"Now imagine that is not my hand, but _his_ teeth, when he has grown to his eventual, enormous size. If he is to be useful, then he has to be trained, and that has to be done now. I do not require your understanding, Sabra, only your obedience!"

"Ye- Yes my Queen. I live to serve you."

Arsinoë sighed and relented a little. "This is for your safety, Sabra. Do not question me in that."

So it was. Over the days and weeks which followed, Sabra kept her mouth shut to all objections she might have over her queen's method of training the lion cub. She was not kind, but her training methods were effective. It was illogical to deny him food once he could kill with one swipe of one paw. She named him Rameses, after the pharaoh who had gone into battle with a lion at his side.

Octavian's was a well-chosen gift, and further cemented her impression of him as a canny and clever man. The lion was a gift, yes, meant to honour her and meant to act as protection. But it was also a warning; Romans fed dissenters to lions, after all.

Of Maahes, there was neither sign nor word. To distract herself from the unexpected pain his absence caused, Arsinoë threw herself into her work as much as possible. It was not going as well as might be hoped. Although there had been an initial conflict between the two, Antony and Octavian – despite Antony's agreement to their amnesty – had joined forces to hunt down Caesar's assassins. There might well be more conflict in the future, but her efforts at stoking it were fruitless. She tried not to think about Maahes might be getting on. She tried not to think of him at all.

* * *

He arrived with a small party, of no more than a dozen praetorians. He was not announced, and no one at Ephesus expected him. Arsinoë had, of course, received reports that he was coming before he had even left Rome. She had kept the news entirely to herself. This had to be carefully stage-managed, and it would be a better effect if her servants also looked surprised.

Megabyzos was informed of an important visitor arriving at his temple on a morning in midwinter. A priest was hurried ahead of the party to inform Queen Arsinoë she would soon be receiving one of most illustrious personages in Rome.

"General Antony?" Sabra asked.

"I think that if Antony were to come, he wouldn't come with this few men," Arsinoë observed. "And there would likely be more screaming."

Sabra smiled briefly and stood modestly behind her queen. She patted down her clothing, making sure that she had adequate weaponry about her should it become necessary to defend Arsinoë. Arsinoë clicked her fingers and indicated that Rameses, now eight months old, was to sit on her right-hand side. When the visitors were shown in, her hand rested casually between his ears.

Megabyzos showed him in. " My lady, this is–"

"Gauis Octavian Caesar," Arsinoë finished. Sabra gasped. She offered her hand. "Welcome to Ephesus."

The man in front of her was younger than she by a few years, a laurel wreath resting on his curly black hair. He had astute blue eyes which widened in surprise at her address. "I was expected?"

"Not at all. But I knew your father, briefly. You have his air of august command."

Like most young men, Octavian was charmed by flattery, and smiled. He took her hand. "Well met, Queen Arsinoë."

"And you as well. You honour me by coming here."

"I could do no less for so staunch an ally. We have much to discuss. Come, walk with me."

Sabra bristled at his 'air of august command' being directed towards Arsinoë, but wisely held her tongue. Arsinoë didn't mind it too much. This particular business relationship worked best if Octavian thought he was in charge. Before she left, she turned to scan the room. There was a threat here, someone who did not belong. Her gaze settled on one of Octavian's retinue. A man who reminded her strongly of Maahes. Clearly not human.

She clicked her fingers. "Rameses, come."

She and Octavian left the temple to walk slowly around the perimeter, Octavian's guards following at a safe distance. Rameses came with them, by now well-trained to follow Arsinoë wherever she might go unless told explicitly otherwise. Concerned by the vampire in her quarters, it was only with an effort that she listened to her companion.

Octavian motioned towards the lion. "He is a handsome creature."

"Yes. By far my favourite gift you have sent me, I admit."

"He is obedient?"

"As you see."

"You are no doubt wondering why I am here."

"I assume it is something to do with the truce between yourself and General Antony."

"Not merely a truce, I hope, but a lasting peace." She looked at him, raising a sceptical eyebrow. He smirked. "It could happen."

"It could. It won't, but it could."

"In any case – in the meantime, it would be dishonourable to continue to spy on my ally."

"Sensible though," she pointed out.

"Regardless. I came here to personally thank you for your help and for your intelligence. And to ask you to stop."

Arsinoë smiled. "You must make a fine Senator, Caesar. A true politician."

"My lady?"

"What you say is: you intend to treat your alliance with Antony in good faith. What you mean is: you will no longer support my claim to the throne of Egypt. Very well, if that is how it must be. I will not set myself against you."

"I am glad to hear that."

"A word of warning, however? You still desire Egypt's wealth. You will not get it while my sister is Queen. She will ever be your enemy. She must be, because Caesarion will be her Pharaoh of Rome. Therefore I say again: will not set myself against you. But nor will I be idle simply because you are." She extended her hand to him. "Do we understand one another?"

He took the offered limb and kissed it. "Queen Arsinoë."

When they re-entered the Temple of Artemis, Octavian took his leave almost immediately. Arsinoë looked, but saw no sign of the vampire she had noticed before. Because of that, she deliberately did not go to sleep that night.

She was not disappointed. After midnight, he reappeared. When he did, gold and silver in the moonlight, Arsinoë suddenly realised she knew exactly who he was. Unconsciously, her fingers came up to rest on the silvery scar Maahes had left over her heart. Its coolness was oddly comforting. "You're his father."

A nod.

"Why are you here?"

To look at her, seemed to be the answer. Words were a long time coming. When she felt she was been intricately examined, he spoke. "To understand what has made my wrathful, lustful, formerly _compliant,_ favourite son fall in love."

Arsinoë did not attempt to hide the fierce, unrepentant happiness she felt. Neither of them had said it, but she knew how she felt. It was good to know. She faced Maahes' father with a joyful defiance. Judging by the look of recognition which passed over his face, it was a reaction he'd seen before.

"Ah, I see. You're the same."

Arsinoë didn't deny the charge – if it had been a charge. "Are you here to kill me?" she asked, really curious.

"Why would I kill you?"

"You've indicated I'm a distraction. You don't strike me as someone who tolerates distractions."

"Ordinarily, no. But as I said – he's fallen in love with you. Even when I ordered him to end it with you, he refused. Now I see why."

"Allow me to disabuse you: he did end it. He said goodbye. He has not been back. I imagine you know exactly how long it has been."

"Ten months and five days." He tilted his head and scented the air delicately. "Perhaps a week."

She had been trying not to measure out the time. Hearing it given so factually hurt more than she wished. "Then you have no reason to fear. He may stay your _favourite_ son."

"It is not so simple."

"Thank you for your concern," she bit out, "but a broken heart is a temporary pain. I have endured it before."

He laughed and shook his head. "He hasn't told you anything, has he?"

Arsinoë narrowed her gaze. "What ought he have told me?"

He motioned to the scar she was still touching. "That, for one."

"He told me it binds us together. For life."

"For _his_ life, not yours."

She was too well-practiced to allow her shock to appear on her face. But, like Maahes, her visitor could easily read it from her body. Stupid. She had been so stupid. To feel instead of think? Had she lost control of her senses? She would be angry enough with her lover later, but for now, her initial fury was directed inwardly. Foolish, foolish woman that she was. When she was calm enough to speak again, she said, "Is there anything else pertinent I should be aware of?"

"Much," he answered blandly. "None of it mine to tell you."

"In that case I see no point in continuing this interview." The bitterness was clear in her voice, but bitterness what was Arsinoë felt. It felt as though he had come here merely to taunt her.

Maahes' father bowed slightly. "My curiosity is satisfied. Farewell, Queen Arsinoë."

"Wait," she called after him.

He stopped.

"You intervened to save my life, in Rome. I owe you a debt. How do I repay it?"

"For now, it is enough that you remember the debt," he said.

He left as silently as he had arrived, and Arsinoë was left alone with the night and her regrets. It was not until ten minutes had passed and the watchman swept around the town outside her window, that she realised. She went looking for Rameses, and found him cowering under her bed. His eyes were fixed on the door that the vampire had left through, his ears flat back.

"Some guardian you are," she commented. "Come. Out from under there."

He whined – actually _whined_ – and slunk back further.

"Isis preserve me!" she snapped. "I have had enough of lions! Of all descriptions!"

She grabbed a weapon, turned on her heel and marched from her quarters into the main temple courtyard, feeling angry beyond all description. With no one to fuck, and no one to attempt to beat senseless (though she was very well aware she'd probably break her fists on Maahes if she tried), she practised sparring against imaginary vampires until the dawn came.

The day after the dawn brought more bad news: Mark Antony was to meet, in the spirit of friendship, with Cleopatra.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

With no one to derive advice from, Arsinoë turned to the gods. Isis was mute, as was Osiris. In lieu of anyone else, she went to the Temple of Artemis, to hear Megabyzos speaking.

A goat had been brought into the temple for the morning sacrifice, and Megabyzos stood over it, grasping it hard by the horns. There was a wickedly sharp knife in his hand as he wrestled the animal over the metal grille which would collect the visceral fluid. He addressed the worshippers who had come to hear him, many of them children.

"Sometimes, it feels as though we are like this animal," Megabyzos observed. "Helpless. Trapped by the whims of fate and held fast by forces far stronger than we are. It is easy to panic, and to fight, to try and escape these ties." He leaned down to put the knife against the neck of the goat. Feeling the cold metal, it panicked and increased its efforts to escape. When it started bucking, the blade bit through its skin and into the vein. It soon bled out. "Yet see now." Megabyzos watched it die with an impassive expression. "By fighting, we sometimes only hasten our end. Had this beast not struggled and strained, it could have escaped the blade."

A little boy, sat cross-legged and close enough to have been hit with a crimson spray, raised his hand. "My lord, does that mean … we should not struggle?"

"Precisely, Alexander. We must instead have _faith,_ that the gods lead us to where we are meant to be. And if they lead us no further, then it is because we are where they intend us already."

Arsinoë lingered after the others in the crowd had gone. "Good advice," she said.

"Advice to help calm and tame a populace," he replied. "I did not intend to direct it at you, my lady."

"But why not?" she asked. "It is surely more pertinent to me than it was to any of those children. Since I was crowned Queen – no, not crowned, I was never _crowned_ ," she amended with a wry smile that was still edged with resentment. "Since I was declared Queen, I have enjoyed one brief moment of triumph. After that … I have been ripped from my country. Paraded as a trophy in the citadel of my enemy. Exiled to a foreign land. Had promising alliances ripped from me. Every effort I have made to reclaim my birthright has proved fruitless. Yet, like that goat, I cannot stop struggling."

Megabyzos looked sympathetic. "It is a difficult thing to do, for those of us used to acting on our own agency. But we are directed by the gods too."

"I was brought up to believe that the gods would always favour me."

"Perhaps they do. They have brought you through all these trials, have they not? You were taken prisoner, rather than executed. Caesar was forced to spare your life rather than sacrifice you to his glory. You have been welcomed here and given privacy and leniency. If the gods take you no further …"

He was correct. Both of them had been, it was only their perspective which was different. She was, despite everything, alive. She was, despite everything, trapped.

"I wish I knew what they wanted from me," she whispered, half to herself.

"Perhaps they wish to give you happiness."

Arsinoë thought long and hard on his words. In particular, that word _happiness_. She almost did not recognise it. Certainly not in connection to herself. Happiness was something other people worked for. Her happiness was always bittersweet. Perhaps because she was always torn as to what she wanted. If there was no one else to consider, she would run to Maahes without a seconds' pause and bask in happiness.

Except there was always someone else to consider. If Octavian was unwilling to help her get her country back, there was only one other, slim, possibility. And considering it made her skin crawl.

That evening, she turned to Sabra. "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything, my Queen."

"I need to go to Tarsus. The last report said that Mark Antony had reached out to my sister."

Sabra nodded. "But she is vowing she will not leave Egyptian soil."

"Which gives me a small window of opportunity. Antony has men. He needs money. If Cleopatra won't give it to him he might be willing to consider me as an ally."

Sabra grimaced. "It will take more than the promise of money to make him your ally."

"I know. That's why _I_ need to go."

"You- You intend to use–"

"Myself? If … If it comes to it."

"Let me go."

"No. I need you here. Pretending to be me. Antony will be impressed if I arrive unexpectedly. It loses its impact if I send a servant."

Sabra nodded. "So should the governor come calling …"

"He needs to see that the exile is still exiled, yes."

"Megabyzos will not be fooled."

"Megabyzos will understand. I will need his help anyway."

"And if Maahes arrives and you are still gone?"

"He won't. But if he does, feel free to tell him where I am."

"You do realise that might not actually prevent him from tearing my spleen out," Sabra pointed out with a smile.

"A jest! You must be beginning to like him," Arsinoë grinned.

"Well. We seem to want the same thing," Sabra replied.

"Oh?"

"To keep you safe."

Arsinoë's smile faded. "I'm sorry I'm making it so difficult for you, my friend."

Megabyzos had to be in on the plan in order for Arsinoë to travel safely from Ephesus to Tarsus. He did not raise any objection to her proposal, and the next morning, Arsinoë was disguised as a Priestess of Artemis, in a group of other priestesses and guards, boarding a ship to Zephyrium, the closest port to Tarsus. It was a long journey, but not as long as the one from Rome, at least.

In the hustle and bustle of the port, it was easy to slip away from the rest of the group. She had sent messages ahead of her arrival, and she had agents waiting for her. There was no bad news – or at least, no worse news – and they conveyed her speedily to Tarsus.

She found Tarsus full of people who were not human. She knew what to look for, but even those who didn't sensed something in the air. Tarsus' streets were full of witches, and within an hour of being in the city she had spotted at least half a dozen vampires. No sign of her own vampire. The revelations that Maahes' father had given her still churned in her mind, though she'd thought about little else on the voyage here. She was no nearer to drawing a conclusion about how she felt. It seemed as though she would settle on angry.

"My lady, do you still intend to approach General Antony alone?"

Irritated that she had, once again, allowed her thoughts to drift to Maahes, she flicked her attention back to the matter in hand. Winning over Mark Antony. She had limited time to do it: Cleopatra had arrived last night. Mark Antony was invited to a feast said to cost a million sestertii in three days' time.

* * *

"Next time Philipus says 'no', remind me to ignore him," Elena commented.

Marta smiled. "You think Queen Arsinoë would have helped us?"

"I fail to see why not. Including her in our rapprochement with Antony would have demonstrated, at least, an acknowledgement of her aid so far."

"You feel we owe her that?"

"I feel that relying on her inexplicable regard for Lucius might prove a mistake," Elena said.

Marta's smile widened. "He is a fine-looking man, _domina_ ," she said mildly.

"So our luck will hold as long as her lust does, is that your reading?"

The smile had now turned positively mischievous. "Lust turns even clever women mad, no?"

Elena smiled back at the other woman as they moved through Tarsus' busy streets to their lodgings. Jests aside, she truly did think it was a mistake to ignore or become complacent with regard to Arsinoë. While it seemed Lucius was attempting to divest himself of the relationship, it also seemed as though he'd yet to realise it was a fruitless effort. If he had mated, the deed was done. The primary danger he faced – indeed, that the whole Monsafí family faced – was Arsinoë turning her energies against them. Elena had also counselled Philipus against going to Ephesus to threaten her. He had insisted that he wished merely to 'evaluate' her. Elena sincerely hoped that was true. She knew too much to be allowed to become an enemy. Better to kill her than have that happen.

Their route took them through the market, their senses assailed by every conceivable noise, sight, smell. The air was heavy with olive oil and spices, not to mention the far less pleasant odours of _garum_ and sweat. People were crushed together, shouting as they haggled for bargains or warned their children not to wander too far. Each person who brushed past Elena brought another layer of scent to her attention. Most, she ignored. But midway through the market, one of those scents caught, pulling at her. A female. Elena turned and looked at the woman who had just moved past her, Marta doing the same. Outwardly, there was nothing obvious about her. She was definitely human, slightly, dark of skin and of hair, and dressed much the same as any other of the women here. A light green linen covering was pulled up over head and was shading her face, but that was hardly unusual. No, it was the way she smelled: poppies, marjoram, and the scent of another creature. A familiar vampire, one who smelled of saddle leather and wood smoke.

Elena glanced at Marta, the look enough to confirm that something was amiss. Against the flow of the tide of humans, they turned and began to follow Arsinoë.

They trailed the foolhardy queen to the merchant's quarter of the city. She walked with careful consideration, with occasional bursts of speed if someone should happen to get in her way. It spoke of an impatience borne of irritation. It was likely Arsinoë had come to Tarsus with the same aims she and Marta had. It also seemed likely that she had been as unsuccessful.

She entered a jeweller's. A few moments after she had entered the shop, the blinds were let down and the door closed. They remained that way for two hours. In that time, Elena and Marta found somewhere out of the way, and listened to Arsinoë praise the merchant on his wares, buy several expensive pieces without attempting to haggle over price, and flatter him by warm congratulations on such a fine family (he had a daughter and five sons of varying ages, it sounded like). Arsinoë had, by this time, been invited to stay for lunch. She appeared genuinely interested in the marital negotiations for his eldest daughter and even went so far as to hint that she might do better for herself and her family – if their fortunes were increased. Elena continued listening and waiting for the trap to spring. It soon did. As Elena smelled bread, sweetened with raisins and dipped in honey, being shared, Arsinoë discreetly dropped into the conversation her knowledge that the family's youngest son was not, in fact, the merchant's and his wife's. It was their daughter's. And she had yet to be married – such a bastard would severely impact her bride-price.

There was a shocked silence. The merchant attempted angry bluster first. "If you think to blackmail –"

"Such an ugly term, as well as a tactic … oh, most crude," Arsinoë said softly. "My dear Caecilius. I have no intention of doing any such thing. Besides, I heard it from an acquaintance in town. I'm afraid it's rather inevitable that your in-laws will too."

It was clever, but it did not enable Elena to better understand why Arsinoë was here. If she had failed to secure Antony, why had she not made immediate preparations for returning to Ephesus? What was she bothering with this jeweller for?

Inside, Caecilius was deflated with a more or less audible noise. "We are lost there then," he said sadly.

"Not at all," Arsinoë said, sounding surprised that he would admit defeat.

"They will not bear the stain on their honour–"

"Most people will bear anything for enough gold."

"It will not be a question of money for them."

"Everything is a question of money. How much, generally."

"You … You said you …"

"I did."

"And in … return?"

"Show me the pearl you are holding for Queen Cleopatra."

Beside Elena, Marta shifted. "Ah."

Once Caecilius had agreed to poison the pearl (not that he had been given much choice in the end), Arsinoë left him establishment. She glittered with the amount of new jewellery and other ornamentation she had purchased from Caecilius. Elena hoped he had taken a lesson about trusting a pretty, rich woman to be stupid. Arsinoë continued to dazzle until she reached the first knot of beggars at the edge of the market place. Then she gave them all a piece of her newly-acquired jewellery and slipped away.

Still further intrigued, Elena moved to go after her. She was stopped by Marta's hand. "Our interest will attract others, _domina_ ," she said.

"Foolish child," Elena said, watching Arsinoë's dwindling figure. "She's going to get herself killed."

"Then she does not require our help to do it."

"You're right, Marta."

"Back to Rome?"

"Yes. Nothing more to be gained here. If Philipus wants ties with Antony he can forge them himself."

She took a last glance at Arsinoë, them immediately swore. Not because of Arsinoë – but because she was still being followed. Or stalked, rather. Marta looked up to see the source of Elena's cursing, and followed with her own invective. No choice now.

* * *

Arsinoë did not anticipate being able to kill Cleopatra. Though the poison which coated the pearl was lethal enough to do so if swallowed or touched, it was unlikely her sister would do either. Arsinoë was confident that the only possible way to serve a 'million sestertii feast' was to dissolve a pearl in vinegar. Naturally, only the very finest pearl would do, so that was what Arsinoë had poisoned. But the poison was intended, if possible, to harm or kill Mark Antony. Either was satisfactory, as long as it wreaked the potential alliance between Egypt and the Eastern Republic. It was not one of Arsinoë's more subtle, or even well-thought out plans, she had to admit. More born of a desperate desire to do _something_. Acting on such impulses was always a bad idea. If it failed, she would return to Ephesus with nothing but a blank, dull lifetime of exile before her. Until one of Cleopatra's assassins was eventually successful, probably.

Or she could leave. If Sabra would consent to come with her, she would have at least a companion to wander the world with. They could vanish into the blue and live however they wished. She acknowledged that partly, at least, that idea held appealed because she was so angry with Maahes. To leave her was one thing. To leave her so … ambiguously, to leave her with the prospect of his _possible_ return–! She'd known he was arrogant – but he had left her now with only one way to bite back.

She was Arsinoë IV, rightful ruler of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms, daughter of Isis and the saviour of Egypt.

She did not pine.

In theory, she did not pine. This pathetic, shadowy excuse for a plot spoke the truth though: that her heart was no longer in winning back Egypt. If–

"Hey, lady! A moment of your time? I'll make it worth your while, _domina_."

Arsinoë adjusted the covering over her head and continued walking. She had apparently gone the wrong way back to her lodgings and was now in the midst of about a dozen brothels, all with prostitutes beckoning. It had been abysmally stupid to leave Antony's villa without waiting for her escort and she was now not entirely sure how to get back.

She paused, debating employing one of the many people trying to entice her as a guide. Deciding to retrace her steps, she turned and ran smack into a rock wall. No, not a rock wall. A vampire. One she didn't know – almost as big as Maahes, but dark haired and dressed in a toga rather than a military uniform. He had an Aquiline nose, blue eyes so light they were almost silver, and lines of cruelty around his mouth. He caught her to stop her falling, and then didn't let go when she attempted to step back.

"You look lost, _domina_ ," he purred.

"Not at all," she replied. "Kindly release my arm and I will be on my way."

"Please, allow me to escort you home. You shouldn't be here," His eyes flicked to the silver scar on her chest, just visible, "alone."

"She is not alone," a clear, musical voice said.

He let go of Arsinoë's arm like it burned. His grip had left a while handprint that ached with pain – even more so when her rescuer did the same thing to her hand, pulling her in to another cold, hard, vampiric body. This one was petite and female, and belonged unquestionably to the most beautiful creature Arsinoë had ever imagined. Her hair, the colour of honey, was bound with a green scarf which matched her eyes perfectly. She did not look at Arsinoë, but addressed the other vampire, tone sharp and cold as sea-glass.

"Draco. What a pleasant surprise to see you in Tarsus."

'Draco' bowed. "Lady Monasfí. A fortunate meeting indeed."

"I thank you for your offer of assistance to my daughter-in-law."

Arsinoë kept her face blank of surprise. This, then, was the mate of Maahes' father? Why had she intervened, after Philipus Monsafí had made it clear she had no place in his family?

Draco gave a smile devoid of pleasure. "I live to serve, Elena, as always."

"Of course. If you will excuse us, we must be on our way."

He bowed and silently, smoothly, moved from their path. Arsinoë felt his eyes on her back all the way up the street, and beyond it. Elena Monsafí did not relax or relinquish her grip on Arsinoë's hand until they had arrived at a villa not far from Mark Antony's own. Her woman also walked just behind them, as formidable a rear guard as the Roman army had ever mustered. When alone Arsinoë was finally able to shake off the grip on her hand. She felt no hint of the threat from the male vampire; these two females were looking at her with the same critical, analytical air she did when handed a piece of interesting new intelligence. She opened her mouth to demand answers, but was beaten to the punch.

* * *

"What was the purpose of the pearl?" asked Elena.

"Cleopatra has said she will hold a feast costing a million sestertii. A lustrous pearl, dissolved in vinegar, is the only practical way of attempting such a feat. Finding the pearl was more precise – and realistic – than poisoning every barrel of vinegar in the city."

Elena nodded. Neither Cleopatra nor Antony would drink such a vile concoction, but they might take a sip. Even if it killed only a food taster, it would at least paint Cleopatra as unreliable or incompetent. "Your jeweller will bear the brunt of reprisals."

"And his family will be provided for – as long as he succeeds."

"If he should not?"

"I don't reward failure," Arsinoë replied coldly.

"Without a profitable marriage, that girl will end up a prostitute."

Still her words drew no glimmer of sympathy from Arsinoë. "Many women are. Prostitution does not equate inevitable poverty. If she's clever, she'll be fine."

"And if she isn't clever?"

"I don't reward stupidity either."

The exiled Queen obviously felt that the time had come to wrest back control of the situation; without being invited to, she sat down and turned the interview on Elena. She did not bother with small talk. "Why did you help me?"

"You belong to our family. Anyone could smell that – that Draco dared to threaten you once he had seen your bond-mark is astonishing. I should have ripped his throat out, old friend or no."

Astonishment was what Arsinoë clearly felt, at the breath-taking _hypocrisy_ of the vampires and their contradictory attempts to either claim or dispense with her. She let out a long stream of curses in Egyptian which would likely have blistered the ears of any native-speaker and was probably making the mummies of the eighteenth-dynasty pharaohs blush. When she had finished, she seemed calmer, enough to reach for logic. "Well, if I am to be treated as chattel, that is how I will discuss this situation." She cleared her throat. "In what way do I 'belong' to your family? Solely because I bear this?" she asked.

Marta clucked her tongue and muttered in their native tongue, "Foolish, arrogant boy. Does Lucius truly think a woman such as this will be content with ignorance about anything?"

The word 'Lucius' was the only one Arsinoë understood. "Don't tell me it is for him to impart," she interrupted. "Your husband did that. I just want the truth, I don't care who it comes from."

Elena gazed at her for a long time. "Yes," she said simply. "Solely because you bear that."

"Continue."

An eyebrow was arched elegantly.

"If you please," Arsinoë added clumsily. Elena forgave her the rudeness. It had probably been a long time since anyone had made her say that.

"You are Lucius' mate. He is the son of my mate. You belong to – you _are_ – family."

"And an 'old friend' of your family threatened my life?"

"Draco is an old friend to us in the same way that Cleopatra is a most beloved sister to you."

"I see. A further question, perhaps the only one which matters: what do any of you _want_ from me?"

Elena shook her radiant head, sending the fragrance of honeysuckle through the air. "That is not the question which matters. I do not want anything from you. Taking you from Draco had nothing to do with saving you and everything to do with protecting what is ours."

"I am once more reduced to a tradeable good," Arsinoë muttered.

"No," Marta said. " _Not_ tradeable. Not to be traded, or bartered or enslaved. Ours. To use and watch and defend."

"Territory then."

"Better," Elena said. "But still not quite accurate. And your question was not the one which matters."

"Do tell."

"No." Elena pushed to her feet. "My servants will take you back to the coast. Go back to Ephesus. If you want answers, demand them from Lucius when he comes."

"When he comes … When he comes I might kill him."

Elena shrugged as if to music. "As you like."

Arsinoë narrowed her eyes. "You don't like him, do you?"

"Do you _like_ him?"

There was a brief, unexpected, shared smile between the two of them. No. It wasn't for liking or friendship they stayed faithful to their men. Fire burned, but it was necessary for life.

Elena turned away. "My servants will see you back to the Temple of Artemis, Queen Arsinoë. I trust you are intelligent enough to know the right question to ask before you arrive."

When Arsinoë had departed, being carried in some style by Elena's servants, Elena watched her departure until she faded into the far distance. Marta watched Elena. "She's … interesting."

Elena nodded.

"And you're impressed. I wonder if Philipus was."

"He was," Elena said, the faintest tinge of admiration in her voice. "She wasn't afraid of him."

* * *

 **A/N: Apologies for the delay in this chapter. I had to re-write the entire ending of the fic and plot out the sequel. Next chapter will be up soon, I promise.**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**A/N: Some direct quotation from the books, here, because I think they're dead romantic like.**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Lucius made it a full year and a half before returning to Ephesus. In that time, he had been required to practice diplomacy, killed hardly anybody, participated in only _one_ war, and gone a ridiculous amount of time without sex. He had intended to, of course he had, many times – and each time, the image of the mark he'd left on Arsinoë's breast burned into his vision, obliterating the woman in front of him. The memory of how she tasted, the heady poppy which he now fully understood as a drug, was at the back of his tongue, always. If he ever dwelt on it, on _her_ , his hands began to tremble and he got a headache like he'd had a blow hard enough to split his skull open. And the longer he went without her, the more he dwelt.

Four hundred and sixty seven days after he had last had the pleasure, he found himself inhaling the scent of poppies and marjoram. _Arsinoë._ He dropped in through the window.

Certainly, any noise that his feet had made was well below the range of human hearing. However, as he had judged correctly by the smell, the hearing was not all human. A low growl which he felt vibrate the air rose. It was followed by a lion. Not a fully grown one, not yet. But big enough. Brave, too. When Lucius sent back an equally menacing snarl, the lion blinked, but nevertheless coiled, ready to spring.

Then Arsinoë spoke. "Rameses, stop."

Immediately, the lion obeyed. He did not relax, when he lay down, as his head was up, yellow eyes fixed firmly on Lucius, and his tail swished left and right in an agitated fashion. An unhappy cat in any language.

"Obedient."

She said nothing. Her expression clearly spoke of her expectation that she would never see him again. She did not yet understand why he had come back.

"I wanted to see you." Simple enough. The truth, coincidentally.

She said nothing to that, and got up from the bed, reaching for a shift and some sandals. "Let's walk. His stink must be overpowering."

It was. Musk, mostly, with traces of blood and flesh that hung from the gaps between his massive teeth. It would have been apparent to Arsinoë had her senses not become inured to it. "Still better than a camp two months into the campaign," he remarked as they left her quarters.

"There's no need to be civil, Maahes. It doesn't suit you." Her voice took on a sharp edge, making civility an accusation, and growing angry. Once again, he was pretending to be something other. Once again, he disappointed her. Once again, she was furious at being disappointed.

In which case, it was time to abandon an ill-fitting tactic. He did so, instantly behind her and drawing in a long breath of her scent, under her hair. She smelled of herself, but also of far-off places and people, some of which he fancied he half-knew. She had left Ephesus not long ago. Why had she come back? Her adrenaline spiked the air and made it difficult to think properly, even while her shoulders relaxed.

"I could be cruel," he growled.

"Then be cruel," she retorted, "and let all ties between us be dissolved."

Very slowly, and fighting his instincts every inch, Lucius released her. "I did not come here to hurt you."

"Staying away hurt me. And it's definitely hurt my furniture," she added, gesturing to her rooms. Rameses, frustrated at being told he couldn't kill Lucius, could be heard tearing apart everything he could get his claws into. There was an edge to her voice that might be laughter or tears.

"You're rich enough to buy new."

"So are you." She smiled then in a surprised way, and kissed him carefully and completely, as if he were the answer to a long-asked question. "I missed you."

He kept hold of her and kissed her again, thoroughly and for a long time, before they left to go down to the beach. The early-morning fishermen would not be down here yet; apart from a few wild animals, which skittered from their path, they were alone. They walked side by side, but not touching, as had been their custom. At the end of the beach were piles of boulders, fallen down from the cliff during an earthquake months ago. They walked so far in a silence which built until it was difficult to break.

Then she said something completely unexpected. "Your father came to see me."

He stopped. He had picked up no trace of Philipus, no scent or sign that he had been there – but of course, he would not have. The lion alone would have made it difficult to scent another vampire, and if Philipus had not touched Arsinoë … Nevertheless, she had been threatened. She had been in danger – from his own father. Until now he had not thought it possible he could feel such rage towards a member of his family.

"He should not have done," he said, grinding the words out through a clenched jaw.

"Speaking of things that should not have been done," she replied. She touched the scar at her breast. "This?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. But I wish you had told me the truth."

He frowned. "I told you–"

"You told me that it cemented our relationship. That for the rest of my life I would carry this mark and that we would be bound together. I was happy. It was what I wanted. I did _not_ want you bound to a ghost for all eternity!" She stepped closer to him and put her hands to his face. She was not weeping, but her expression distraught. "Maahes, why would you do this? Why would you do it?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes against the look in hers and ducked his head to kiss her. She knew why, so responded in kind, pressing herself closer. She raked her fingers through his hair and moaned low in her throat when he lifted her and tilted her hips against his. She tore her mouth from his briefly to mutter something in Egyptian. He didn't need to translate it to know it had been, "too long". _Never a truer word spoken._ The need to be inside her had never been stronger, and it was at the last second he remembered her human fragility and did not slam her against the rocks.

He had remembered with perfect clarity what it felt like for them to come together, or thought he had, until this moment. Until their bodies were enmeshed like this, until they were complete and whole again and until something primal had overtaken both. It could hardly be other than desperate and over too quickly, which indeed it was, Arsinoë's climax pulling his with it.

Afterwards, he carried her into the sea and washed both of them in the salt water. The sun was rising as they returned to the temple, where Lucius spent the following hours ensuring his memories of her body matched reality. If he touched her _here_ , her back arched in a perfect curve; if he touched her _there_ , she flinched in anticipation, and an exquisite sound of pleasure left her mouth. Arsinoë normally tended to be a quiet lover – today, Lucius took great delight in making that an impossibility. In between their lovemaking, however, there were some causes for concern. She had a few new scars, at least a couple of them from lion claws.

He traced one on the right side of her rib cage. "This one was nearly deadly."

"Rameses attempted a revolt."

Lucius glanced towards the said lion. Now that it had been firmly established that Arsinoë welcomed Lucius into her quarters, Rameses had not attempted to kill him, though he clearly wasn't pleased with his presence. "How did you punish him?"

"I ordered him half-drowned and half-castrated," Arsinoë said casually.

"Risky. That might have killed him."

"It didn't. And he's not entertained a thought of disobedience since."

On cue, Rameses let out a rumbling groan and rolled over onto his side, proving that, yes, he did only have one. His yellow eyes had yet to leave Lucius. When he growled, Lucius simply let loose a similar snarl.

Beneath him, Arsinoë shuddered at the vibration. She opened her legs, shifting them up to either side of his hips. "Oh, do that again."

They were undisturbed until sundown, when Sabra brought food for Arsinoë and some messages. One brought news of Octavian's victory over Lucius Antonius, Mark Antony's brother. Arsinoë read it quickly and then looked at her lover, still in bed. "So, how much thanks does Octavian owe you for this?"

"The messenger was … waylaid. Antony knew nothing of his brother's need. Octavian's influence grows stronger."

"Your father must have been pleased with you."

"I did not think of Octavian or my father," he said, pulling her down to the bed again. "Only of you, and what might keep you safe."

She sat, though with her back to him and her head only slightly turned. "Of me?"

"I believe I only ever think of you. Wherever I am, if there is a pause in my thoughts, that pause is filled with you."

She looked down at her hands. "I thought it was usual for a man to speak of love only before lying with a woman."

"And perhaps that might be so, were you in any way ordinary. If I have not done so before, let me speak and be heard plainly, Arsinoë. I am three hundred years old. I have had women, many of them. And I know I could live another five thousand years without ever finding another woman like you. I have found you: I do not see the point in trying to find you again."

Arsinoë took a breath, squared her shoulders and turned to face him. "And so? I do not feel differently, Maahes, but it changes not the situation. I am mortal. I will be until Osiris welcomes me into the afterlife."

"You are mortal, that is true. You need not remain so."

She took a sharp gasp of air, but her quick mind understood instantly what he meant. But then that quick mind did not stop. "And … And my- My nation, my people?"

She already knew the answer, so Lucius did not give one.

There was silence. "I love you," she said after a pause, "but this is not a decision I can make in a moment."

Lucius felt an uncertainty he was unused to. Better than any other creature on earth, he knew that Arsinoë was not governed by her emotions, no matter how strong. "If I return at the next full moon?"

She nodded. "I will know." She turned suddenly to grasp at his shoulder. "But don't– Will you stay? I … I would like to feel safe. For one night, at least."

He had no reason to doubt it. Forgetting even to eat, she lay down in his arms and was asleep in a moment. Lucius lay awake and listened to her deep breathing and her calm, rhythmic heartbeat.

* * *

The moon was new when Maahes left Ephesus. It was not even a crescent before Arsinoë knew what her decision must be. She had finally worked out what Elena Monsafí had meant. She had grasped the right question: what did _she_ want? Forgetting vampires, Cleopatra, Egypt, the gods – what did Arsinoë wish for? And the answer to that was easy.

To her credit, Sabra almost held in her doubts. She nearly managed to have complete faith in her queen, not quite able to believe Arsinoë would do this voluntarily and without a guarantee of anything in return. But, just as the last chest was being removed from Arsinoë's rooms, she obviously felt it imperative that she speak up.

"My Queen, are you sure? It does not seem certain that you will not need these things again."

"I am sure."

"But what about in the future, when you come to marry–"

"Sabra, why would I marry?"

Sabra stammered out an answer, "W-well, to– to–"

"To gain wealth. To gain power. To forge alliances. To make a dynasty."

"Yes."

"If I marry, it will be to fulfil an expectation placed upon me by someone else."

"I suppose so," Sabra said doubtfully, obviously unsure of where Arsinoë was heading with her line of questioning.

"If I mate, it will be out of utter necessity. Because there is no way forward without him in it."

There was a silence as they watched the chests, loaded onto a third cart now, begin their trundling journey towards Rome. "So," Sabra said, "you are doing this because … you choose him?"

"Exactly," Arsinoë said softly, her eyes on the treasure she had just relinquished. "Because I choose him."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

It was obvious, when Lucius arrived back in Rome with Arsinoë's scent all over him, where he had been. But after Philipus' unauthorised visit to his lover, he was in no mood to offer explanations. His father met him half a mile away from the villa. Lucius dismounted and slapped the horse on the rump; it obediently trotted towards home.

"Of all the threats in the world I thought to protect her from," Lucius said quietly. "I thought you knew better."

"You thought you were protecting her? You exposed her to danger by keeping her in ignorance, simply because you could not face your own weakness!"

"You had no right to go! If I had threatened Elena is such a fashion–"

Something very dark and dangerous appeared in Philipus' gaze, but he controlled his anger long enough to say, "Arsinoë was not remotely threatened. Even I could not fault her courage."

"Even the attempt was unforgiveable."

Philipus' eyes glinted. "Regardless of what I did, her position is too dangerous."

Lucius was astounded at the hypocrisy on display. "When we fought to release Elena from that savage, you burned down half of Europe – it cost thousands of lives! I know, Justus and I took most of them!"

"Leave Elena out of this," Philipus snarled.

"Taking Arsinoë from Ephesus would be easy in comparison – if anyone stood in our way it would be a few soldiers only! No one would care enough to send legions after her! And even if they did–"

"Even if they did, I owe you?" Philipus asked, anticipating where Lucius was heading. "You aided in freeing Elena, so there is a debt? You speak of slaughter as though you have a distaste for it!" he sneered. "You would happily have killed thousands more just for the sheer joy of it!"

"I did it for you, Father," Lucius refuted. "All of it. I would have done anything you asked, I still would. If you don't know that–"

"I do," Philipus sighed wearily. "I do."

There was a silence as Lucius fought down his aggression. "There is no debt. But you went to such lengths for your mate. Will you not do even of a tenth of the same for mine?"

Philipus promised to consider the matter carefully, and he did for the next day or so. It was less than Lucius had wanted, hoped for or expected, but it was, he grudgingly admitted to himself, better than nothing. He couldn't stay in the villa while he wanted to demand what by the gods there was to think about, so spent those two nights in the countryside, butchering anything or anyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

When he did return to the villa, his father sought him out. He held a letter. "This arrived this morning, along with two other carts. Each of them was full."

"Of?"

"Documents, primarily."

"Who sent them?"

Philipus ignored the question. "The documents are of a wide variety. Some of them are intelligence reports. Some historical records. Some correspondence. Some lists of wealth. Some names. This one is particularly interesting," he said, holding out the scroll to Lucius.

It was papyrus, not the usual vellum, and crinkled under his fingers. It was a list of names, each one a spy working for the Monsafi family. Underneath each name, one of two phrases. 'Ut sim fidelis' or 'Notandum levium' - trustworthy, or untrustworthy. Despite its Egyptian origin, the writing was in Latin - and done in familiar script. "Arsinoë did this?"

"There were personal gifts, too. One chest, addressed to Elena, contained instruments and music. A few jewels and silks, but mostly things she is delighted with. To your brother, the queen has sent art and poetry. She sent me a pair of horses."

"Why would she ...?"

"How would she is perhaps a more pertinent question. To be privy to such personal information – how could she have come by it?"

"Not from me. I told her your names, but … Anything else, she has learned through other means." He did not deny the pride which filled him, nor the smile on his face. "I told you how clever she is."

"This demonstrates an intelligence somewhat beyond merely clever," Philipus said grudgingly. "She has expanded our influence significantly with all of this. It's clearly designed to curry favour."

"No," Lucius said, staring at it all and with exhilaration and joy dawning on him. "It's merely been sent on ahead. She says yes. This is to demonstrate that her allegiance lies with us. With me. She has chosen me."

Philipus sighed, then gestured expansively. "Then all that remains is for you to agree."

"Do I have your blessing, then?" Lucius asked.

"Do you need it?"

"No. But I wish Arsinoë to be part of our family, not merely my mate. Your whole life is about making Elena safe and cherished. Will you help me do the same for Arsinoë?"

It had been a long, long time since Lucius had ever asked permission for anything from his father. Even longer since he had done it in so sincere a way. A slow smile appeared on Philipus' face. He nodded once. "Of course."

"Tibi gratius ago, Pater."

"Alright, enough of that. The air of humility is terrifying when it's on you. Get some rest and leave tomorrow. Bring her home."

It should have been easy to do; Lucius had the answer he wanted, and in a very short amount of time he would have Arsinoë by his side forever – but when he lay down to rest, he found sleep impossible. The sound of cicadas was almost deafening that night, even for the humans. Usually, Lucius was able to tune it out. Tonight, the harsh buzzing seemed as though it was emanating from inside his own skull. It made his nerves raw. In the past, when he'd had similar instincts of impending trouble, the feeling had been one of anticipation, not dread. The hours before a battle were bettered only by the fierce joy afterwards, with the ruins of his foes around him as he stood triumphant and bloodied. This was not like that. This was making him want to kill almost everyone around him, just to be on the safe side. He took deep breaths of the night air, straining to filter out the smell of witch. There were some, but not enough and none close enough to explain the unease.

What explained the unease was the report which arrived at the villa with the dawn. Antony and Cleopatra were fully allied now, in every way. Cleopatra had asked a favour of her new lover. To rid her of her rebel sister.

"I must go to Ephesus at once."

"Wait," Philipus said. "Elena will go with you."

"What? Why?"

"Because you have never done it, nor seen it done," Elena answered swiftly, "and there may not now be time to bring Arsinoë here first. Either myself or Philipus must come – and as I assume you do not wish your mate to also be your sister …"

Lucius shuddered.

Philipus smirked. "Then Elena will go with you."

Lucius nodded, accepting the logic of it. Vampire custom did not prevent a vampire turning a lover and then continuing a sexual relationship, and if there was time, it was what Lucius intended. Elena's presence was to guard against what he feared most, the prospect which had laced the air around him with so much panic last night. That he might be too late.

Elena seemed to catch his mood and his fears without speaking of it. They made all supernatural haste to Ephesus. And they were, indeed, too late.

The poison was not quick, nor kind. Poor Rameses died in agony, his saliva blood-flecked, yowling in pain and lashing out at anyone who came near. Except for Arsinoë. He had laid his great head in her lap, her hands running through his mane with as much gentleness as she could muster while blinded by tears. Eventually, the trembling and tremors ceased to wrack his huge frame, and then his last breath left him.

Arsinoë brushed his golden eyes closed, then wiped her own. "Sabra? Send a message to Tribunus Monsafí, if you would. Tell him we may not have until the full moon."

The messenger was duly despatched. There seemed little else to do but to prepare for the possibility that Maahes wold not get to Ephesus first. She wished she had some way to tell him that it was alright, that he hadn't failed her. She wished many things.

Sure enough, Megabyzos came to her at dusk on the fourth day from Rameses' death. He looked pale. "Queen Arsinoë …"

Arsinoë looked up from her weaving. It was a mess anyway, as her hands were trembling too much. "They're here?"

"Yes."

Sabra let out a loud sob. "My Queen–"

"Courage, Sabra. They've come for me, not you." The shaking in her fingers had stopped. How odd.

"They cannot have you!"

Arsinoë turned and grabbed Sabra's arms. "I forbid you from interfering, do you understand?"

"But–"

"I absolutely forbid it, and if you think of dying for me, I will curse your soul so that Anubis may eat it!"

"I– Yes, my Queen."

Sabra came with her though, as did other priestesses of the temple. At the entrance, on the steps, stood six Romans. These were no sleeping puppets of Cleopatra. Merely Antony's thugs. Their leader reached out and grabbed Arsinoë's upper arm, jerking her forwards.

"Let's get this over with."

Incredulous, she watched as they drew their weapons. Here? On the steps of the temple? A priestess of Artemis, who had been watching, was equally horrified. "Stop! You cannot dare to profane–"

"I'll date anything to fulfil my orders," the Roman said, pointing his blade at her. "Step aside."

"No! It cannot be allowed!"

She made a lunge for the blade. Sabra saw her opportunity and leapt forward with a dagger. She got lucky, and got him in the neck. Deciding not to waste an opportunity, Arsinoë attacked too, as did four or five others. But they were seven unarmed, untrained women against heavily armed and armoured professional soldiers. Arsinoë wasn't sure when she received the first stab wound, but at some point, she had found she was collapsed on the temple steps, looking into Sabra's face. She was dead. There was blood leaking out of Arsinoë's own body, accompanied by a deep, sapping pain. Too late, she acknowledged how much she very much did not want to die. Not without Maahes. Too late. Far too late.

Lucius had heard of blood rage in others of his kind; it was a rare, troublesome affliction, and not one that any in their family suffered from. But blood rage alone could explain the red haze that came over his vision as he reached the Temple of Artemis. A fury that seemed to set his bones alight demanded a violence beyond mere death for the soldiers. It was not even enjoyment, as a battle might usually have been. This was a slaughter made necessary by every instinct in him. His sword stayed sheathed; he had no need for it.

When it was over, blood no longer merely stained the temple steps; it was everywhere, splashed as liberally as the limbs, torsos and heads of the soldiers were. His own clothing and face were sprayed with the warm, salty liquid. And still, the only scent in his nostrils was Arsinoë's life, too much of it for her to live more than a few moments. He had stab of sharp dread at the idea she might already be gone, but underneath the screams and shocked whimpers of the other humans, there was her heartbeat. It was slow, and weak, and far, far too quiet. But it was there. Between its next thumps, he was at her side, lifting her into his arms.

"Was … Was I wrong?" she wheezed, her breath a ragged tune of pain. "Are you Horus after all … come to … take me before Osiris?"

He hushed her, speaking urgently. "Listen to me, amare, I can save you. We can- make you like me. You will not be the same, you will vanish from the world, but you will be with me, forever."

"Amun, then … the mortal to … immortal …"

She was drifting; he shook her, the shock of pain lancing through both of them but enough to rouse her back to alertness. "Arsinoë! This would not be a gift without cost! You would be bound forever to feed from the life of others, from their very blood – never ageing or dying. You would be denied the afterlife of your ancestors. There will be no paradise."

Her black eyes had gone dull as stones, but she still managed to try to smile, at least. "Fool," she whispered. "Without you … there never could be …"

She lost consciousness immediately after; the time for decision making was up. In a matter of seconds her heart would stop beating, she would be dead, and lost to him. What she had managed to say would have to be enough of a confirmation.

Before his mouth had touched her skin, Elena grabbed his shoulder. She was less bloodied than he, simply because her violence had been more controlled, and she had used weaponry. Two of the decapitated bodies had arrows embedded in their eye sockets. Lucius couldn't remember if they'd been dead before he ripped their heads off. With his instincts overruling so much, though, her interference was met with a proprietary growl, and he crouched lower over Arsinoë.

"Will you defend her corpse?" Elena snapped. "Step aside!"

There wasn't time for this. She was right. Any delay now and Arsinoë was lost forever. He backed off. Elena did not waste time. She pulled Arsinoë's grey-skinned body into her arms, put her teeth to the wound in her chest and drained what little remained of her blood. Then she opened the vein at the crook of her arm and held it to Arsinoë's still lips.

"Come, daughter. Let me give you life, child," she murmured. "Drink of me and thrive."

Lucius found he was praying to gods he didn't believe in – Artemis in particular. Surely, no deity could ignore such an affront. No god could allow such a massacre on their own temple steps without demanding justice. He looked up. The moon was full, a silent white orb in the night sky, a glaring witness to all that had passed here. _This is an insult to you, Artemis,_ he thought to her, _so don't let it stand._

Elena drew in a sharp breath, then allowed her shoulders to relax. She caught his eye and nodded slightly. The relief which flooded Lucius was stronger than any blood lust he had ever felt. After a moment, Arsinoë was taking blood from her new mother's veins like a newborn at the teat. Elena was studiously controlling her breathing, her peripheral senses clamped down and numb to everything else around her.

The watching humans began to creep forward again. Megabyzos was closest, watching with curiosity. He took a step back when Lucius met his eyes. But then, since Lucius did not move an inch – how could he? – he crept closer again.

"What can we do?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Why would you help us?"

"They defiled the temple and murdered those in my care. You killed them. And whatever becomes of …" He swallowed. "Wherever Queen Arsinoë goes, I will always be her ally."

"Get me four horses. Dispose of the Roman bodies. Leave the priests where they fell."

Megabyzos nodded frantically and dashed away to do as Lucius had told him. Oblivious, Arsinoë continued to drink. She was still limp and boneless, but from hardly beating, her heart now seemed to be under the impression that it was running from Marathon to Athens and back again. As the horses were brought, her mouth fell away from Elena's arm.

Elena looked pale, but satisfied. "All is well. She is strong enough to withstand the transformation, but it is never easy or quick. We should leave the city as soon as possible."

They mounted, Elena lifting Arsinoë into Lucius' arms. Megabyzos approached close enough for Lucius to grab him by the throat and lift him bodily to eye-level. "Queen Arsinoë died here tonight."

Megabyzos gurgled, turning purple. He managed half a nod.

Lucius dropped him. "I expect you to build her a fitting tomb."

Megabyzos looked towards Sabra's body, and Lucius knew that he understood.

They spurred the horses forwards, and left Ephesus at speed. Before they had departed the city, Arsinoë's body had begun shaking, a trembling which increased in violent intensity until she was wracked with it, until it was difficult to hold her steady on the horse. They managed, just about, to get to safety enough before she started screaming.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

When Arsinoë opened her eyes, it was to a new world. She felt cold. Heavy. Coiled and waiting. She was lying on a bed of hard rock which might have been simply red, but it wasn't – it was red, ochre, orange, crimson, terracotta, saffron and silver, shimmering and glinting, individual grains of the sandstone rock as clear as if they had been under her nose instead of ten feet above her head.

"Arsinoë?"

She looked to her left, and saw Maahes. _Saw him_ , as she had never seen him before – the faint creases around mouth, the pores of his skin, the faint pink tracing of veins, like spider webs, across his eyeballs. The flecks of chestnut brown in his otherwise copper hair.

"Try to stay calm," he said, in a voice that had more tones in it than it ever had before.

She watched it reverberate through the air to reach her ears. Her senses expanded, further out, to hear the songs of birds and the crack of branches being stepped on, the soft thuds of animal hooves. They sounded close.

She tried to open her mouth, to ask him how by the gods he expected her to stay calm when there were, all at once, a thousand new colours in the world. But she found her tongue too thick and swollen with thirst to speak. "Water," she croaked.

"Water won't help," came a voice like a silver fountain.

Arsinoë looked towards the mouth of the cave, but there was no one there. It took a moment to realise: the woman speaking was still some distance away. She heard her footsteps coming, muffled and almost silent over the grass. Along with something else. Heavier. Somewhat larger with a galloping heartbeat.

Elena, leading a horse by the bridle. Then Arsinoë understood exactly what would help. She was not aware of having moved, but she was aware of the rich, heavy, iron-wet tang in her mouth. The blood was satisfying on a visceral level, answering an animal need. Arsinoë, so famed for her composure, abandoned it completely, as she did her sense of self, to answer the call of a primal instinct. Within minutes, the horse was drained and empty.

She raised her bloodied mouth and said, "More."

Another horse was brought. After that was finished with too, Arsinoë curled up and fell asleep in the manner of a newborn. When she opened her eyes, the same appetite resumed, its edge unblunted.

"More."

A sheep.

"More."

Two goats. Between each meal, she slept deeply, her body attempting to grow into the newness of itself.

"More."

Finally, uncounted hours or days later, she stopped feeling thirsty. Enough of her self returned that she wished to be clean, to scrub the dry blood from her face and hands. She could hear the cacophonous noise of a stream, halfway down the mountain they were on. Without thinking, she headed towards the cave-mouth.

Maahes got in her way. "Too dangerous," he said. "If there are humans ..."

She wasn't listening. Too busy, once again, marvelling at a thing which should not have been novel and now was. In the past, he had always been other. Hard and cool as stone and just as yielding. Now she was touching him and feeling him to be exactly like she was.

"You're not cold," she observed, her hands making their way along his arms to cup his face.

A smile quirked his lips. "I haven't changed, _amare_."

She accepted that. It was very obvious she was the one changed here. "What did you do to me?"

"Turned you," Elena said.

"How?"

Elena extended her left arm, indicating a small, crescent-shaped scar the mirror of the one Arsinoë bore on her chest. "With my blood."

The former queen accepted that with a nod, then said with a little hesitation, "I … I've never had a mother before."

"And now you do." A simple reply, but one which held all the layers of such a relationship bound up within it.

"How long …"

"Two weeks."

Two weeks. She had been dead for two weeks. "I'll fetch water," Elena said.

She went down the hill, leaving Arsinoë alone with her lover. No. Not her lover. Her mate. "I'm like you now," she said.

"Yes."

It came to her mind to ask after Sabra, but she knew, she– _remembered_ that Sabra was dead. Sabra was dead while she was alive – would stay alive for vast stretches of time to come.

Maahes' fingers were gentle at her hairline, lifting strands sticky with dried blood from her face. "Remember, but don't regret those you leave behind. There will be many more of them in times to come."

She nodded. "Thank you, Maahes."

He smiled. "It's probably time you use my name, _amare_. Or choose one of the goddesses for yourself, if you still think me a god."

Of course. She could be Arsinoë no longer. "No. But I will need a new name, I suppose. Have you any thoughts?"

"Alexandra?"

She rolled her eyes. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"

He laughed, and pulled her to the cave-mouth. It was darkening, the night rising up to claim the sky in a blush of violet. Before, no stars would have been visible yet. Now stars were all she could see. Some, so distant as to be no more than pinpricks of white light; others, like Mars, a red ball clearly distinct from the yellow Venus. She wondered if, when the moon came out, she might be tricked into thinking she could touch it.

"What about Cælestis?" he said.

"You think to call me _heavenly_?"

He stared at her in burgeoning starlight with an entirely unironic expression of love. Words were unnecessary to express how much he clearly did think that. "Choose another, if you dislike it."

She felt an unexpected sense of youth and uncertainty. She had known and been confident of them in humanity – being so very _in_ human made her feel more vulnerable. "I don't mind what we call one another. So long as I call you mine."

He brought her palm up to rest over his slowly-beating heart. "That will be forever, now."

A slow, sweet smile broke over her face. "Lucius."

He bent to kiss her. "Cælestis."

* * *

 **FIN**

* * *

 **There will be a sequel. It's going to take time to write. Thank you for reading this, I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it.**


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